Pitten forced another smile.The jolly, rapid music and the laughter and chatter of the patrons took on an ominous quality now, unsettling and discordant with the deadly drum of my blood.
“I—Ah—I came to give you this, is all.”Pitten held out a letter with one hand, leaning around Mary to try and give it directly to me.
Mary snatched it.“Leave.Now.”
“Of course, of course,” Pitten said, taking as much of a step back as he could in the press, wringing his worn cap in his hands.
Ben materialized behind the man, separated by only a handful of raucous tavern-goers.For once, the murder in his eyes was reflected in my own.
Pitten retreated another step, then seemed beset by impulse.“You and your brother are Black Tide Sons, Mr.Rosser.”His gaze flitted about for Ben, not realizing he was behind him.“And this is a sacredtime.You should join us to pay respect to the Midden Ghist.Your mother would have wanted it so.”
The Midden Ghist.The creature who inhabited the abandoned chapel in the forest, the only ghisting in the Lesterwold.
Mary, crushing the unopened letter in one hand, advanced.“Leave before I lose my temper and do something I will regret.”
Pitten turned twitchily, nervous to take his eyes off my face, and froze at the sight of Ben watching him over the heads of the crowd.
Mary added, “Or he does something he will not.”
ESTEEMEDCAPTAINSSAMUEL ANDBENEDICTROSSER,
On this the 7th Day of the Second Turning of the Black Moons,
It was with great reverence that I learned of the events north of the Stormwall this past year.Through the rumor and speculation, it is clear to me your mother’s faith has come to fruition, and, as her spirit has already preceded us into the Infinite, it would be my greatest honor to offer you guidance and council as you reach the height of your power.The Black Tides approach and the Faithful gather in holy places across Aeadine, as I am sure you recall from those gentler days when your mother worshipped with us.
I offer my council to you freely and with great concern.I am not unaware of the scorn with which our people regard the Black Tide’s teachings, and how they have turned you against us.They do this from ignorance and fear, denying our clear and evident achievements.But you are men of the world, and you know the depths of your own power, brought about through our intervention.You, I learned upon my arrival here in Renown, have been to Mere.No doubt you have seen their reverence for mages and magecraft, and perhaps you felt just indignation that your own people do not hold you in such regard.
We see you for what you are.You are Black Tide Sons, most powerful and honored under the Moonless Sky, and, as the Second Turning of this season draws close, I have no doubt you will feel the same pull as we—to the Other, to the power within, to the sanctity of the shadows between the stars.
I have more to tell you, revelations that should not be rendered to text, particularly in light of what is to come.I implore you, seek me out at The Silver Serpent.
Yours in reverence,
J.Pitten
FORTY-FIVE
Nomad
SAMUEL
The following day dawned snowy, somber, and hushed.A note arrived from my uncle inviting Ben and I to take the noon meal with him at one of Renown’s many inns.A dinner invitation would have been more likely to include other powerful men and women— no dinner table was to be wasted, especially in times of conflict.It would have been a chance to share more of what we had learned and to impress upon those in power the need for quick action.
A private luncheon did not bode well for how our news had been received.
I left the invitation on the table next to Mr.Pitten’s crumpled, unopened letter, staring out the window past a mug of cold coffee.The ship was quiet, the crew at rest or on shore, with only the usual creaks and distant footfalls to disturb the ringing quiet.The warm weather had turned as it so often did in spring, and thick, fat snowflakes fell beyond the gallery windows, muffling the sounds of the port and immediately melting on the waves.The flat-fronted buildings on the docks looked like a painting, with snow-dusted ships in the foreground, the specks of townsfolk going about their days, and layer upon layer of white-patched roofs and chimney smoke fading into the overcast gloom of Fort Renown.
My gaze inevitably returned to Mr.Pitten’s letter.Moving with disconnected precision, I popped the seal and unfolded the manycreases in the parchment.Inside I found a square of words in a serviceable, unadorned hand.I dropped my eyes to the signature first.J.Pitten.
The author of this letter had been one of those who manipulated my mother into funding them, who had convinced her to poison and torture her own sons.They were the reason she had been locked away for her own good and had, eventually, died.
Fury made my neck flush and my ears roar.I jerked at my cravat to loosen it and read the letter twice.An offer of aid.Reverence.I gave a bitter huff and imagined Ben stepping into a meeting of worshipful Black Tide devotees.The scenario played out like a fox in a henhouse, and, in my imagining, I did not intervene.
Soon though, my visceral reaction to the letter cooled into something more calculating.I scanned it a third time, pulling out individual points and turning them over more slowly in my mind.
If the Black Tide knew there was more to this spring’s tide than usual,howdid they know it?They were not the Ess Noti, with their Dark Observatories and ghisten saints.They were peasants dancing naked in the moss, and they had no way to communicate with the Midden Ghist, even if he was inclined to share.
Yet they, and the Midden Ghist, were here.
