Arthur and I had never been taught to fear. From our first days of training in the Pup Yards of the Severed Hand, we were taught to kill, to focus our wyrd, to use our arms, our power and our wits to defeat any foe. But never to fear them. What was there to fear for a duellist of the Severed Hand? The Eastron were superior men, the Sea Wolves were superior Eastron, and the Brand twins were superior Sea Wolves. Tomas Red Fang and his spirit-masters could speak for hours about the threats of the void, but I’d never seen anything to fear. As long as my mind and my blade remained sharp, the world would do well to fear me. But I’d never truly seen the world. I’d seen the great hold of the Sea Wolves, I’d seen Moon Rock, and I’d seen the void around both. I’d seen the Inner Sea, the Outer Sea, and the decks of a dozen ships. But I’d never seen the world. Young Green Eyes was right – the Kingdom of the Four Claws was little more than a handful of holds and the sea in between. I was a few days’ travel from the Severed Hand, and a million miles from the world I knew.
Jaxon and I had been restrained, and beaten into unconsciousness. I think I’d hurt several of the hybrids before my eyes closed, but it didn’t change the outcome. When I awoke, I was being dragged through cold, brackish water, with irregular stone blocks overhead. A passageway of some kind, with the salty water and pungent smell of fish all around me. The hybrids hissed and babbled, their voices coming to my ears as a series of pops and sucking sounds, containing no meaning. I was struck unconscious several more times, and awoke each time with cloudier vision and a more painful headache. The hybrids appeared incapable of punching me hard enough to send me to a longer sleep. Or maybe they enjoyed beating me. Certainly their frog-like murmurings rose in pitch as I was struck. Perhaps it was laughter.
When the passageway ended, and I regained enough wits to maintain a facade of torpor, we entered a huge square stone edifice, and were thrown onto a wet floor, riddled with mould and seaweed. The Wisp was next to me, his body quivering and his eyes staring. Two dozen hybrids came with us and spread out into the dark chamber, their grotesque heads held low, as if in reverence. Ahead, we were greeted by the maniacally smiling face of a Pure One. He was no hybrid, but appeared to be a normal man of the Mirralite. He wore sickly-green robes and stood before a rippling pool of water, dug into the centre of the chamber. Elsewhere, standing silently before open doorways, were more Pure Ones, in the same robes and with the same smiles.
“The Devils of the Sea,” said the Pure One, noting that both of us were conscious. “Mighty beings brought low … and brought to me.” His smile widened into a grin, showing black teeth. “Do you know where you are?”
I was pulled upright by slimy hands, and shoved into a seated position, with my arms bound behind my back.
“Answer me!” cackled the Pure One, in mockery of our customs.
I looked at Jaxon, and saw that he would not be answering. I feared that his sensitive mind was overwhelmed. We knew what was in the void. We’d both seen the chaos spirits kill Arthur, and the Wisp was unusually attuned to terrors beyond the glass. If anyone was going to speak for us, it would be me. I’d seen my brother be torn apart, but I wouldn’t let myself dwell on it when other lives were at stake. He’d never forgive me if I gave in to despair.
“We are far from home,” I replied, unable to conjure any bravado.
“You are in the Lodge of Dagon, girl. You will hear the sea and you will taste madness. But you will be mother to mighty beings. In time, your offspring will join their cousins and rule this world. You are strong and will survive many couplings and many births.”
A little vomit appeared in my mouth, and I spat it onto the damp floor. Out of habit, I looked around, assessing the enemies arrayed against us. More than I could fight, even if I had Jaxon to help me and we both had blades and free hands. There were no Sunken Men, just armed hybrids and robed Mirralite. Then I realized I was distracting myself from the thought of being raped by abominations from the sea. “Fuck you,” I spat, letting anger eclipse fear. “I am a duellist of the Severed Hand and I may not be free, but I believe I have strength enough to choose death over violation.”
I began to focus my wyrd, pooling it in my hands and channelling every ounce of my strength. I intended to send it to my head in one concentrated burst and end my own life in a surge of power that would kill me, Jaxon, and perhaps the mad Mirralite. I didn’t know if it was possible, or if I was strong enough, but it occurred to me and I tried it, all in one moment.
“No,” said the mad Pure One, waving his hand in a slow circle, and elongating the word. I felt the wyrd drain from my limbs, and my strength wane to nothing. “You cannot choose death. You can choose only violation.”
“How can you do this?” I uttered, finding myself too weak to remain sitting. I fell on my side and a spray of water hit my face. I looked at Jaxon and tried to convey fear, but he didn’t see me. His eyes were focused in mid-air, and sweat was pouring down his face. “You are just a Pure One.”
“I am the Nether One, varn of the Dreaming God … and I hear the sea,” he replied. “As you will in time. If your ears are not consumed by your own screams.” He cackled again, his mouth wide and his eyes crazed. “Take the female to the pens. Take the male to the Temple. Let the First Fang rage until all Nibonay shakes.”
*
I remained conscious, but was as weak as a child. Jaxon and I were separated and my limp body was carried over the shoulder of a bulbous hybrid, through stinking passageways, past cells of screaming Pure Ones, to a dank chamber. Water sloshed across the floor, and vile images were carved into the walls. Three cages of dull, black steel lay in the stagnant water, with hunched occupants in two of the cages. Both were obviously women, though only the middle one showed signs of movement.
“Rest in cage, Sea Wolf,” grunted the hybrid. “Will need strength.” Again, the throaty, gargled laughter.
The left-hand cage was opened and I was flung inside, my face immersed in a foot of water. My strength slowly returned and I was able to sit upright, but I could feel no wyrd within my limbs. The mad Pure One had somehow robbed me of my power. Or perhaps it was this place, or the madness all around me. It didn’t matter. I could stand if needed, and I could still fight like a rabid wolf, but I had no advantage of wyrd. And my eyes were newly opened to fear. It was as if the glass around me had broken when I saw Arthur be dragged to his death, and I now looked upon a new world of terror and madness. I wanted to see an avenue of escape, rescue Jaxon, and flee this place. But I wasn’t even looking. My senses were rebelling against me, letting me feel only fear, and see only hopelessness.
“You’re just in time for fish,” said a sing-song voice from the adjacent cage.
I didn’t look up. “I don’t like fish,” I muttered.
I heard the other captive shift position, as if she was looking at me, but my eyes were staring at the tepid water in which I sat. I didn’t care who she was or what she looked like.
“Just a saying,” said the woman. “My ma used to say it before dinner. Just in time for fish she’d say … then plonk a bowl of vegetable soup in front of us. Not that these froggy-folk serve vegetable soup or fish. Nope, it’s gruel and hard bread I’m afraid.”
“Until we die,” I grunted, through a scratchy throat and a dry mouth.
I heard a few grumbles and disapproving snorts, but the other captive didn’t reply. Perhaps she’d sensed that I wanted to be left alone. Or perhaps I was wallowing in my fear. I shook my head and sat up, wiping greasy water from my face. Between our cages was a few feet of water, and through the wide bars I saw a young Eastron woman. I guessed we were about the same age, though her dirty face and matted hair made it difficult to tell. Her pale blue eyes were wide and she stared at me without blinking.
“You’re a Kneeling Wolf,” I said, coughing to relieve the scratch in my throat.
“To you I kneel, noble Sea Wolf,” she replied. “Yes, I cough a lot too. Cough, cough, cough. It’s probably the food.”
I rubbed my eyes and turned in the cage to face her. I struggled to focus on anything beyond her, but I was at least able to discern that there were two exits from the watery chamber.
“It’ll be along in a minute,” said the Kneeling Wolf. “Gruel and hard bread. I think it’s awful, but it’ll be nice to have a second opinion. Do you know what my old ma would say about now?”
I frowned at her. “Just in time for fish?” I offered.
“That’s right,” she excitedly replied. “Just in time for fish.”
I shook my head again. A part of me thought I was hallucinating, and the Kneeling Wolf was merely my spiritual punishment for getting Arthur killed. Another part of me didn’t care and just wanted to sleep, in the desperate hope that all this was a fever dream. But it wasn’t a dream, and I wasn’t hallucinating.
“What’s your name?” I asked. “I’m Adeline Brand.”
She smiled warmly, seemingly amazed that I was real enough to have a name. “Pleased to meet you, Adeline, I’m Harriet, Harriet Mud.”
“How long have you been here, Harriet?”
She drummed her muddy fingertips against the bars. “Not long. But long enough. I suppose I’m luckier than some. Yes, luckier than some.”
I took a few deep breaths. Strangely, having a vulnerable young woman to talk to was not the worst thing under my current circumstances. She was weak and had likely seen things that would always be behind her eyes. Things that would no doubt also fill my future.
“Harriet, I’m not going to let you fall any further if I can help it. I can’t get you out of here, but I can talk to you. And you can talk to me. And we will have each other. For as long as we have anything.” I stretched out my hand, and found that the cells were close enough for two prisoners to touch. “Take my hand, Harriet, and tell me how you came to be at the Bay of Bliss.”
She looked like a timid puppy, all eyebrows and chin, as she reached a slender arm through the bars of her cage and took my hand. “They’ll be here soon with hard bread and gruel. You must be hungry.”
“Harriet,” I prompted, “why are you here?”
“Well,” she bleated, “it wasn’t just me. There were five of us. I think Tasha and Lucas escaped. They’re strong swimmers, I know they made it. Hector was cut open by a frog-man, and me and Zorah were brought here.” She released my hand and gestured over her shoulder to the other cage. “I think we’ve been here two weeks or more.”
I looked at the third cage and saw no movement. The figure within was curled up in the still water at the base of the cage, wrapped in layers of muddy cloth. “They kept you for mating?” I asked, revolted at my own question.
She laughed, with tears streaming down her dirty face. “Not me. They don’t want me. Not for that anyway.” She placed a hand on her shoulder and pushed her cloak aside, revealing an arm riddled with sores and flaking skin. “I’ve had it since I was a girl. We call it the withering. It’s just on my arm and my foot, but the Pure One said it made me unclean. I’m lucky. Luckier than some.”
“And Zorah?” I asked, reaching out again through the bars.
This time, Harriet didn’t hold my hand. She just averted her eyes and looked at the rippling water. “Zorah has been taken from her cage six times. When they brought her back … the first time, she just screamed. After that … she wouldn’t talk. The Pure One kept saying that the seed wouldn’t take.”
I tensed my arms and gripped the bars. My breathing came heavy, growled from the pits of an empty stomach. I thought that being helpless was worse than being beaten. I doubted my own strength, and I thought a thousand thoughts of what was to come. I felt a tear fall on my cheek and I realized I was silently crying.
“Why did five Kneeling Wolves come to the Bay of Bliss?” I repeated, this time in a whisper.
“Same reason as you, I suppose,” she replied. “The Friend sent us here to find out if the Sunken Men had returned. I just hope Lucas and Tasha get back with the answer. Or sent a spirit.”
The Friend was Isaiah Leaf, the elder of Four Claw’s Folly, and the inheritor of Mathew Lone Claw, who’d arrived with the Always King. He was pledged to the First Fang, and usually derided as a good-natured little brother or some such. Though the wise amongst us knew that the Kneeling Wolves were more worthy than most Eastron.
“You should have come to the Severed Hand,” I said. “We could have used your counsel.”
“If we had, you’d have done exactly what you’ve done. But you wouldn’t have me to talk to.”
From the right-hand exit, a huge shadow was cast across all three cages. I wiped my eyes and turned to glare at the hybrid who entered. It was heavily deformed, and bulged at the belly and neck. Its globular eyes were green and white, and it blinked at us, before loping across the chamber with a large wooden bucket in its slimy hands.
“Just in time for fish,” said Harriet Mud, still looking at me.
I said nothing as the hybrid approached. I thought about the range of my arms through bars and I thought about grabbing the bucket. But neither would release me from my cage, so I just watched.
“Eat!” grunted the creature, grabbing two bowls and filling them with thin gruel from the bucket. He didn’t get close enough for me to reach him, nor did he place the bucket within range. He just dumped two bowls of gruel on pillars, raised above the shallow water, and placed a hunk of hard bread in each bowl. Then he grunted and left, giving me no opportunity to do anything but watch.
Harriet swept up the bowl and hungrily gulped down the gruel. She tore off chunks of bread and dunked them in the liquid, eating as quickly as she could. I took the bowl and sniffed. There was a fishy odour and the earthy notes of root vegetables. I put the bowl back and ate the hard bread. It was dry and bereft of flavour, but was at least food.
“We weren’t put here straight away,” said Harriet between slurped mouthfuls of gruel. “They didn’t have any Eastron, so they just put us in their breeding pens with the Mirralite – men and women.”
“How many?” I asked. “How many breeders?”
She shrugged. “More than twenty, less than a hundred. Half the women were pregnant, and spared further ordeal until they birthed. Half the men were barely sane. I don’t know what they do to breed with the men, but it took its toll. Some of them wanted to please their dreaming god, but most just screamed.”
“Mated to a Sunken Man. A fate no warm-blooded creature should have forced upon them.”
“Oh, no,” exclaimed Harriet. “They were mated to the frog-men, the inbreeds. The … other creatures, they’re the ones that took Zorah.”
Another voice joined our hushed conversation. From the left-hand exit, a robed Pure One exited the shadows. “And they will take you also, Sea Wolf. Your belly is far riper than this one’s.” He waved a sinewy arm at Zorah’s cage. “The seed will surely take.”
I moved suddenly, crouching in his direction and grabbing the bars that stopped me reaching him. He gasped, startled by my sudden movement. Whatever else these Pure Ones were, they still felt fear, however fleetingly. The man recovered quickly, but kept his glaring eyes pointed at me.
“They have never coupled with a Sea Wolf,” he said, licking his lips. “It will be a glorious step in dispelling the past, before we consume your people entirely.”
“What past?” I queried, tightening my fists around the bars of my cage. “Your dreaming god and his creatures are barely a myth at the Severed Hand.”
He held his hands together in front of his face, as if praying. “But the Dreaming God knows you, whether or not you know him. The Devils of the Sea attacked his city. An army of ants believed themselves strong enough to attack a mountain. But even ants must be taught their place.”
“He would do well to fear us,” I replied.
“No!” he shouted. “To feel fear for an instant does not mean you understand it. It has always been a closed book to your people, whose pages need to be pried open. But for your insult, you will be the first to fall. He remembers you. Of all the ants upon this rock, he remembers you and your boats. You attacked his resting place with a hundred thousand insects. He remembers everything.”
A thousand insults, curses and challenges rushed through my head. Then a thousand reasons why each was pointless. I wanted to scream and shake the bars, but I pushed my rage into the pit of my stomach and said nothing.
“Are you taking her again?” whimpered Harriet, still slurping from her bowl.
“Indeed,” replied the Pure One. “We have a young, virile male for her this time. The seed will take if we have to nail it to her belly.”
I gritted my teeth and saw my knuckles turn white against the bars, but I remained helpless as the Mirralite sloshed across the chamber towards Zorah’s cage. Two large hybrids followed him, wearing cloaks that were little more than sacks to cover their bellies, and wielding their strange pincer spears. Harriet, holding her bowl to her lips, followed their movements, her eyes wide and eager, as if waiting for something.
The Pure One opened the cage with a heavy iron key and directed the hybrids to remove Zorah, who was still motionless. They grabbed her with flabby arms, though grunted and showed irritation that she wasn’t moving.
“Ha, fuck you,” cackled Harriet. “She’s dead! She died two hours ago. You can’t hurt her anymore. You’ll never hurt her again.” She dropped her bowl and clapped excitedly. “We’re not fishermen you know, we’re Kneeling Wolves of Four Claw’s Folly, and we will fuck you any way we can. If we have to die, we’ll die!” Her cackling rose in volume, becoming high-pitched and manic.
As I watched her revel in the most macabre of victories, I thought that the Pure One intended to kill her. His eyes showed rage, as if he felt he’d been humiliated. It would pass, but in that instant I knew he was about to order her death.
As any good big sister should, I quickly decided to protect her. “Mirralite!” I shouted. “Answer me.”
He wrung his fists like a petulant child, looking between me and Harriet. Perhaps deciding which of us he hated more. The Sea Wolf? Whose people had attacked his god’s city in the Battle of the Depths. Or the Kneeling Wolf? Who had been a compliant puppy an instant before.
“You won’t answer because you are a coward,” I snapped, keeping his focus on me. “You fear me because I am a Sea Wolf. My people didn’t run, they fought. They didn’t cower before your Sunken Men, they attacked. We lost the Battle of the Depths, but we never surrendered.”
“Silence!” screeched the Pure One.
“Or what?” I roared. “You’ll have me fucked to death by Sunken Men? You’re gonna do that anyway. What do you have to threaten me with?”
He vibrated with incandescent rage, clenching and unclenching his fists as he stared at me. “Remove the Sea Wolf,” he ordered. “We will teach her humility.”
Suddenly, a spark of defiance returned. I’d made him angry and he was going to try and punish me. I couldn’t identify my next move, but getting out of the cage would hugely improve my options. I kept cursing him, keeping his anger bubbling on the surface of his dusty face.
My cage was opened, and flabby hands grabbed my arms. The bulbous hybrids were stronger than me, and my petty attempts at resistance did nothing, but at least I was out of the cage. They flung me into the water, at the feet of the Pure One, and I spluttered as the brackish liquid filled my mouth and rushed up my nose.
“Stand her up,” said the Mirralite.
The two hybrids pulled me to my feet. I struggled to focus and keep my rage in check. Defiance would get me so far, then it would get me killed, and I tried to remember that a duellist with no wyrd was just a warrior. But wyrd or no, I still had my mind, and my mind was focused on the man before me and the two exits either side of him. “Do as you will,” I grunted. “You will not break me.”
“I won’t need to,” he replied. “You will be broken by the passage of time. Not by any individual moment or particular torture, but by the accumulation of hours, days, weeks and years.”
I tried to wrestle free, but the blubbery hybrids gave me no room to move. I looked across at Harriet, who was no longer laughing, and tried to smile at her, but the expression got lost before it reached my eyes. I may have been out of my cage, but I had no avenue of escape. I hung my head. “Just kill me,” I grunted from a scratchy throat. “You’ve already killed my brother, and sent my closest friend mad. I’ll never …”
“Enough!” he interrupted. “Your stubborn belief that you still have power is making me weary. And, from what I understand, it was not us that killed your brother. If you’d not been so arrogant as step to the shadow, your brother would be alive now … slowly being consumed, along with your closest friend. You killed your brother, not us.” He didn’t smile or gloat, he just stated the facts and let me crumble back to the watery floor. “Now, you will be beaten for your insolence. After which, you will be placed back in your cell.”
The pincers were nasty weapons, but they used them only to bludgeon me into unconsciousness. If they’d wanted, they could have snipped off my limbs with little effort, but perhaps they didn’t need to. Perhaps I was truly no threat to them.
*
I took the Sea Wolf rite when I was twenty years old. I could have been tied to a post in the Bay of Grief a year earlier, but I waited for Arthur. Everyone thought we were twins, so it made sense to drown together, and those who knew we weren’t never questioned my decision. By the time we were taking the rite, I’d already fought three duels on his behalf, killing people who I’d overheard insulting him. The first man targeted his intelligence, the second his skill beyond the glass. The third, whose name I’d called just before my seventeenth birthday, was a seasoned duellist. Unluckily for him, he was also a loud-mouthed prick who’d questioned Arthur’s short temper, and dared to suggest that this was a failing of all Brands. I made a show of killing him, and never had to defend my brother again. Years later, Arthur told me he’d fought five duels in defence of me, and had made a show of killing the last. We agreed that we should just have mutilated the first one and saved ourselves some unnecessary fights.
When we were strapped to wooden posts, freezing, half-naked and trying not to drown, we laughed and joked, teasing each other for our shortcomings. I thought too much, he didn’t think enough. I disliked our family name, he was far too proud of it. But we were both made of the strongest steel, and would be the greatest Sea Wolves the Kingdom of the Four Claws had ever known.
Since that day we’d rarely been apart for long. We’d fought together a thousand times or more. He was my anger, I was his calm. We thought we were one person, divided down the middle by the Old Bitch of the Sea. My mother always said I spent my first year of life waiting for something. She said I wasn’t really there until Arthur was born. What kind of woman would I be now he was gone? Was I now half a person?