15

Marcus

My eyes fly open, and I gasp for air. I know this feeling, the rush of healing venom coursing through my veins. Piper hovers, her snake recoiling, but I can’t see right. I’m shaking, head pounding like a sledgehammer hit full force. I think I’m going blind.

“This is no time for glory in battle, Marcus. Bring it in,” Piper commands.

My eyes close and the darkness surrounds me. “De’ral, return.” I break out in a sweat. Nothing. The link is gone, my warrior disconnected. “Bones be damned, De’ral. Listen to me. Come to ground before we’re both flung off the path.”

Rowten and Samsen grab a shoulder each and help me stand. They assume the job’s done. “Wait. I can’t—” But they take off at a jog, dragging me between them.

“You have him back, right, Marcus?” Samsen leans in to make sure.

“There’s no link,” I whisper into the tunnel of darkness.

He drops me like a hot rock. “Bring your phantom to ground, Heir of Baiseen!” Samsen shouts at me. At me! I thought Brogal was the only savant who could speak to me that way. “Bring it back. Now!”

The sound of the surf is close, the sand wet and hard. I’m on my knees, but nothing is happening.

“He’s injured,” Ash says, coming to my side. She pushes hair from my ear and lowers her voice. “De’ral? We are making our escape. Will you please join us?”

Chills wash across my skin. Ash is the only other person who knows my phantom’s name. It was an accident, her finding out. I let it slip when he first took solid form, but she promised me she would never speak it, never remember she even knew it.

“The cliffs!” Rowten’s voice rises above the waves.

Through blurred vision, I watch an avalanche of sand roll down the cliff, the headland breaking apart as De’ral careens along the goat trail.

“Bring him in!” Samsen shouts.

Ash’s hand on my shoulder gives me more strength.

“Return,” I command him again. “If you don’t come now, Ash could die.”

De’ral stops as if slapped in the face and melts into ground. He rushes, painfully fast, back to my core, bringing a tidal wave of emotion with him.

“Well done,” Samsen says.

I nod but my eyes go to Ash. There’s no time to thank her as Samsen and Rowten drag me into the water and toss me into the rocking boat like so much luggage. The cold revives me and I right myself on the bench. Kaylin’s up to his chest in the swirling whitewater, keeping the bow pointed out to sea. Belair and the other sailor hold the stern while the current rips past their legs.

Ash slides in next to me. “Where are you hurt?” She starts searching for wounds.

“I’m fine.” I push her hand away not wanting her to realize there are no phantom wounds, since I was not in phantom perspective when De’ral took his beating. I was locked out.

My thoughts slam to a stop as Tyche shouts. “Look there!” She stares behind us, open-mouthed as she points to the cliffs.

We all turn as one to the headland. The red-robe savant sits on his dark horse, watching, while on the beach, just lengths away from the water’s edge, columns of sand spray into the sky. His phantom rises again, within arm’s reach of us all.

“Row!” Kaylin cries. He’s shoulder deep in the wash, pulling the bow into the oncoming waves with all his might, which is surprisingly substantial. “Belair, get in.”

He and the sailor scramble up the side and take the back bench.

“It’s coming for us!” Tyche cries out again.

“It can’t,” I tell her, trying to soothe the hysteria I feel as well. Deep down, I’m not so sure what this red-robe’s phantom can do.

The beach erupts and as the sand blows away on the wind, a form takes shape, the undulating column sprouting arms, a head, and powerful legs. I stare, fists tightening. It’s a phantom warrior, twice the size of De’ral, but near identical in shape—a hulking, massive force, roaring after us in a subterranean voice as it thumps its fists against its chest.

Kaylin leaps gracefully from the crashing waves and into the boat, splashing us all. He grabs the aft oars and rows hard, his white shirt soaked and clinging to his chest, dark hair dripping down his back.

The phantom, enraged, stops at the water’s edge. His savant still sits on his horse, high on the headland, his robes blowing in the wind. The morning sun backlights his form, making it impossible to see his face, but I feel as if the red-robe is staring straight back at me.

“Baiseen’s whistle bone?” Ash asks. “Do you still have it?”

My limbs go weak as I reach for the pouch tied to my belt. It’s there, and I feel the outline of the bone still inside. Ash seems about to say something, but her eyes go back to the beach watching the red-robe’s phantom pounding up and down the shore.

All any of us do while we crash through head-high waves is grip the rails and hang on, except for Kaylin and the crewman who work the oars. Ash turns pale and I think she will be sick. It’s not out of the question that I might join her. Even Piper is looking a little green.

Each time we gain ground, a new set of waves hammers us back toward shore where the enormous phantom waits. But the sailors know their craft and finally, we punch through the swell and reach deep water beyond the breakers. It takes a moment for any of us to exchange a glance. By then, Ash is a sickly shade of gray. I swallow hard and look to the shore, watching the phantom slowly go to ground.

Kaylin turns the boat west, toward our waiting vessel. As he does, he leans close to Ash and clamps his free hand over her wrist, pressing hard. She smiles weakly at him, taking over the pressure herself. “I forgot,” she says, already looking better. He taught her that on our first voyage together, how pressure to the inside of the wrists keeps the nausea at bay.

I’m about to speak when Kaylin clicks his tongue before whispering, loud enough for me to hear, “Now I’ve saved him, lass.”

Spontaneously, she kisses his cheek—kisses it—before turning scarlet red. They share a private moment. Private, that is, except for me and everyone else watching. I start to turn away, but he’s not through.

“And, little lass,” Kaylin says to Tyche as he pulls a soggy stuffed impala out of his pocket. “This belongs to you, I believe.”

“Imp!” Tyche’s mouth opens as she takes the wet stuffed toy from Kaylin and holds it to her cheek. “You saved him, too,” she says, her eyes lingering on Kaylin.

Ash whispers something to him, so softly that this time, I don’t catch the words. I rub the back of my neck and look away, noticing that Rowten is still watching Ash. My frown deepens for a new set of reasons I can’t yet name. Phantoms, sailors, captains. Do all have eyes for Ash?

“I’ve never seen anything like that,” Captain Rowten says, bringing our attention back. “Your phantom came roaring out of the sea!” He presses his fingers into his temple. “And that monster phantom? Was that really the legendary Atikis?”

“An alter phantom, for certain,” I say. “And red-robe dressed in the tradition of Gollnar. It has to be him.” I shake my head. “Definitely not something I’ve ever faced before.”

Water sloshes against the hull and, for a moment, all I can hear is the sound of the bow gliding through the waves and the creak of the oars.

“But I have,” Kaylin says under his breath. “Atikis, it is. Originally from the Sanctuary of Goll.”

“Atikis,” Ash repeats the name, saying it slowly. “He broke ties with his home sanctuary, as I understand it.” Her cheeks are still pink as she glances at Kaylin.

“Went rogue.” He nods. “Rides alone, they say.”

“Then what does he want with us?” Rowten asks.

“Should be obvious, aye?” Kaylin shrugs. “He’s after the whistle bones, too.”