TANWEN
I spun around so fast, I nearly fell over.
Yes, there was a ship—far off, a mere speck on the horizon. But zooming closer was a wave of something. I strained to see it better and took a halting step toward . . . whatever grew nearer with each passing moment.
“Strands,” I said, but I couldn’t quite comprehend it. “Those are strands.”
Indeed, the wave looked like it was made up of ribbons of night sky and tendrils of smoke and rivulets of molten metal. And they were racing across the ocean toward us.
Father didn’t waste another second. He whipped back toward the guards. “Miu? Sa, watachi ni rete kasai. Mohi anate kereba.”
“What did he say?” Mor asked Dylun, watching the approaching wave of strands in disbelief.
Dylun glanced between the guards and the strands. “He told them we’re all in danger if they do not let us in.”
And the guards seemed to be considering it. They spoke among themselves, occasionally gesturing toward us or out into the sea. The torrent rolled ever closer.
“Please!” I called out helplessly.
“Tannie, stay close,” Mor warned.
He pointed. One strand was ahead of the rest, just about to the rail of the Cethorelle.
Then the sea gate began to move. It was a wonder the hinges worked or that the guards even knew how to get the blasted thing open.
The gates began to open inward. But slowly.
Too slowly.
The strand in the lead—a perfect ribbon of starry-midnight sky—had reached us. And it was headed straight for my father.
He drew his sword, and so did Warmil and Aeron, but to what end? Would they cleave a ribbon of night in two?
“No!” Without thinking, I thrust my hand forward, and out came a beam of sunlight. It swallowed the night strand, and both disappeared with a pop.
Father grabbed my shoulder. “We have to get inside.”
I looked back at the wave—nearly to the ship. There were too many strands. I could never hope to fight them all. Even with every weaver aboard battling them one at a time, we would be overtaken.
“Captain!” Wylie shouted. “Tannie!”
I spun. One of the crewmen had a strand of night wrapped around his ankle. Wylie and another sailor gripped the man to keep him from being pulled overboard.
I shot a ray of sunshine their direction, and the night retreated for a moment. Long enough for the crewman to reclaim his leg and scramble away. But the night strand didn’t disappear this time. It was like I’d only hit part of it.
A crash on the deck startled me. Claws with ropes attached had anchored themselves to the ship. The Minasimetese had the gates open, and they were pulling us inside.
I turned to Father to reach for his hand. A tendril of smoke shot toward us and wrapped around his throat.
“No!” I launched a strand of wind at the smoke.
The wind did its job—the smoke puffed away. But it also knocked us to the deck and rocked the ship.
By the wheel, Zel rescued another crewman from a night strand, and near us, Mor attacked another wisp of smoke that slithered toward my father. It darted out of the path of Mor’s wind stream. I directed more wind toward the smoke, and the ship listed again.
I had no idea how to fight like this—strand for strand, battling evil of unknown intentions. A ship in unfamiliar waters didn’t seem the best place to learn.
“Hurry!” I called up to the Minasimetese guards. “Please hurry!”
Dylun tried to remove a strand of night from the ship’s railing with a stream of colormastery. The color splattered helplessly along the wood and didn’t seem to touch the darkness. “My strands don’t work!” he called. “What is this sorcery?”
Zel, Mor, and I seemed the only ones able to counteract the enemy strands. Were they coming from a fellow storyteller?
But thankfully, we didn’t have to keep it up much longer. My fingers shot a band of ice toward a stream of searing liquid metal as it hit our ship. As soon as the strands met, the metal cooled—though not before burning a hole in the deck.
But a moment later, the Cethorelle was all the way through the gate, and the guards were reversing their machinery to get it closed.
Zel created a wall of wind and sent a half dozen strands tumbling backward, which gave us just enough distance. The gates settled back into their usual position. The wave did not attempt to clear it or follow us inside.
I collapsed to the deck and sat there, shaking.
Father knelt beside me. “Are you hurt?”
I had to think about it. “No. I don’t think so. Is anyone else?”
Bruises. A few scratches. A lot of shock.
“I’ll go check on Karlith and Gryfelle belowdecks,” Mor said, hurrying past us.
“Father, what was that?”
“Whoever has been hunting us.”
“They came after you.”
“Aye.”
I thought of the strand wrapped around his throat. “To kill you.”
“Aye.”
“Why? Who would do that?”
“I have no idea.”
Comforting.
Father helped me back to my feet, and I took stock of our surroundings for the first time. The ship had been pulled into a small bay behind the seawall. Nearby was a dock. That’s where the ropes that had hauled us to safety were attached to a wheel with large cranks. Two men worked each wheel, and at least six of those claws had been anchored to the ship. Beyond the dock, I could see that the water continued on—a river from the sea, cutting straight into the mountainous island.
“Well, well,” a voice said from the dock as we approached. Very slightly accented, perfect Tirian, belonging to a man wearing the most beautiful studded leather coat I’d ever seen. It was dyed grass-green, somehow, unless they had green-skinned grazers here. Black and silver studs traced an intricate pattern along the front and down the arms of the coat.
If I had thought Dylun or Cameria’s hair to be black, I was wrong. This man’s hair was like purest ink, so black it almost shone blue.
“Welcome to Minasimet,” he said. “I am Kanja, governor of Kyko. And perhaps now you will explain why you have brought evil to our shores.”
“Sir.” Father bowed formally. “Your servant, General Yestin Bo-Arthio. We thank you for your hospitality.”
“It is not our custom.” Kanja studied Father. “You know this.”
“I do. We apologize. I bring good news and a request for aid.”
“Perhaps the good news would ease your request for aid.”
Father reached into his tunic and pulled out another of Braith’s letters. “Alas, my Minasimetese is not good. I tried to speak to the guard, but I failed, I’m afraid.”
“Indeed.” The smile never appeared on his lips, but I could see it dancing in his eyes.
Father handed the sealed letter to one of Kanja’s attendants. The governor took it and looked at the seal. “I do not recognize this. It is not the seal of Gareth Bo-Kelwyd.”
“No. It is the seal of Braith En-Gareth.”
“The princess?”
“The queen.”
“Interesting. You do bring news. Is Gareth Bo-Kelwyd dead?”
“Yes.”
“I cannot say we will mourn him in Minasimet.”
“Nor we in Tir.”
Kanja regarded Father another moment before sliding his finger under the wax seal to break it. He read the letter and looked up. “This is highly unusual.”
“Indeed.”
“I have never known a ruler to give back land without a fight.”
“Our queen is an unusual ruler.”
“What does she want?” Kanja inquired.
“Peace.”
“Hmm.” He folded the letter and tucked it into his coat. “I will pass the message to the other governors and the kinshu.”
“King,” Father translated for the rest of us, and added, “Minasimet kept a ceremonial monarchy even after Gareth conquered them.”
“The Minasimetese contest that we were ever conquered,” Kanja said. “Gareth sank most of our fleet and killed off almost an entire generation of Minasimetese men. That is why the kinshu surrendered without a Tirian ever setting foot on Minasimetese soil.”
Father bowed again. “We share a common enemy in Gareth Bo-Kelwyd.”
“Or shared, as you say.” Kanja looked skeptical. “This offer of sovereignty is genuine? Queen Braith truly means to emancipate the territories?”
“Yes. I swear it.”
Kanja waved a hand. “Then I shall cancel my order to sink your vessel and take you hostage. As a sign of goodwill.”
My breath froze in my throat.
But Father seemed unruffled. “Thank you.”
“And the favor you must ask?”
He was told of the curse, after which Dylun detailed our specific request and his map.
“I believe what we need is hidden in the black-glass palaces—the Kurgarasi,” he finished.
“I cannot recall if a Tirian has ever looked upon the Kurgarasi. Or a Meridioni, for that matter.”
“Please, Governor Kanja.” Father’s tone carried urgency. “We are not here for idle sightseeing. This is life-or-death for two young women.”
Kanja paused for an excruciating moment. “Very well. You cannot leave by the port you entered. That which is chasing you will await you there, and it is likely to get inside if we open the gate again. I cannot allow that. You will travel upriver. It is a three-day journey. The waterway is deep enough for your ship. Pray for wind, or else it will take thrice as many days, and you will have to use ropes and poles. The Kurgarasi is inland a short distance. When you finish, it will take you another day to reach the source of the river, the port at Azu. You may leave from there.”
“The river cuts all the way through the island?” Father seemed surprised. I wondered how complete the Tirian map of Minasimet might be.
“Of course. Many of our rivers do. If one does not wish to have ports accessible from the ocean, one must be creative with rivers. The ancients made our rivers functional waterways—coast to coast, cutting straight through the land.”
“Impressive.”
“If Minasimet is anything, it is impressive. If you agree to this route, General Bo-Arthio, and if you agree to allow a party of my choosing to travel with you, I will allow you access to the river. Do you agree to my terms?”
“Yes, we agree. And we thank you.”
“Indeed,” Kanja said. “Ceremonial or not, the kinshu may have my head for this.”