“I. . was at Irontide when the morning rose, seeking Sheraptus. I had hoped to reason with him, to convince him to direct his attentions toward Jaga. I overheard dealings between him and. . something. Something old.”
“The bad kind of old, I take it.”
“He spoke the first words to the Aeons. He was the one that spoke on their behalf, taking their words from the servants of the Gods just as they took their masters’ words. Azhu-Mahl, he was called in the darkest days. He, who was closer to heaven than any mortal, is alive and allied with the longfaces.”
“They do tend to attract some odd friends, don’t they?”
“LISTEN TO ME.” The porcelain of her face cracked, the liquid of her voice boiled in a bare-toothed snarl. “I can make no apology that would sate you, only tell you that I was wrong, in all things, and whatever sins I have wrought against you are nothing compared to that which is about to happen. Their allies, the old gray one, he is providing them with things that should not be.”
“The stones,” Dreadaeleon whispered, the realization dawning upon him instantly. “The red stones they carry. They negate the laws of magic. .”
“And their venoms that eat through demon flesh,” Greenhair said. “They have more, worse, all of which can do much, much worse and all of which require the longfaces destroying Ulbecetonth.”
“How? Why?”
“I do not know yet.”
“Handy.”
“I know only that, to stop them and the demons both, someone is required. Someone brave, someone powerful.”
“We have neither of those,” Dreadaeleon said. “My greatest feat is vomit that walks, the bravest among us is off chasing it, and both of us are a little preoccupied with something right now.” He turned away, looking back to the ridgeline. “Now, if you’ll just. .”
Before he felt the chill of her fingers, her hands were upon his shoulders, resting comfortably as though they had always been there. And by the time he was aware of them, he couldn’t help but feel that they belonged there. They didn’t, of course; she was a siren, treacherous by nature, treacherous by practice. This was a trick, obviously.
A trick that felt cool upon his skin, coaxing out the fever that had engulfed his body for the past days. A trick that came out of her lips on a lilting, lingering song, flooding into his head to douse a mind ablaze with fear, with doubt.
“I will not, lorekeeper,” she spoke, words sliding into song, song sliding into thought. His thoughts. “I cannot, for I cannot do this without you.”
He felt it again, the itch at the back of his skull.
She’s in your head, old man. Careful. You know what she does in there. Get her out.
He should have. He would have, if her presence there didn’t seem so right, so natural. Expelling her seemed like throwing out a perfectly good bottle of wine, something so sweet and fragrant that it would be a crime to do anything but drink it in, savor it.
He didn’t even like wine.
“No one else can do this. Not your companions, not the longfaces,” she whispered to his ears, to his mind. “I need your strength, your intellect, your power. I need you.”
“I. . I can’t,” he said. “I’m sick. I’m dying. I have no power.”
“You are distracted. You are distraught. Trifling things.”
“Ah. . trifling.”
“They mean nothing to you. I can ease your thoughts, give you clarity.” Her fingers rose to his temples, fingers gently swirling the waters she poured into his mind. “I can give you the power to save me.”
“And. . what about Asper?”
“Leave her,” she cooed, like it was just a simple thing to do so.
“She needs me.”
“The world needs you. They will speak of you with tears in their eyes. They will respect you. Thousands of lives against one, all their respect against hers.”
“All of them. .” He closed his eyes, tried to imagine it. She made it easy. “They would fear me.”
“They would love you.”
“If I just. .”
“Come with me.” Her breath was a heady scent, filling his nostrils even as her voice filled his ears, all of her entering all of him. “To Jaga. Let me give you power. Let me give you the world.”
“And she. . she would. .”
“She will die.” It was spoken with all that fragrance, all that sweet water, all that made the siren’s voice intoxicating. “She will die. She does not need you. She means nothing. But you are-”
It happened without words. It happened with barely any movement. And he wasted no thought on how he found himself with his eyes ablaze with energy, how a lock of her sea-green hair lay severed from her shocked, wide-eyed face, how his fingers still smoked and the air still crackled with the bolt of lightning he had just narrowly missed her with.
It happened. And he lowered two fingers at her, tiny blue serpents dancing across his fingertips.
“Leave,” he whispered.
“Lorekeeper, I-”
“LEAVE.”
Her expression continued to crack, the serenity of her face shattered into fragments of anger, revulsion, and fear. She backed away from him slowly, as she might an animal, down the dune and toward the shore. Her eyes never left his, even as his fingers left her body, the electricity crackling eagerly upon his tips.
“You will never save her,” Greenhair snarled. “Even if you release her from the longfaces, you can’t help her. This world will be consumed, lorekeeper, in sea or in flame. You will die. She will die. And when she does. .” The siren’s lip twisted up, her sneer an ugly crack all its own. “It will be your name she curses for not doing what must be done.”
He had no retort for that. He had barely any wit with which to hear her. His skull was ablaze again, her liquid words boiling inside his head and hissing out on meaningless sighs of steam. He didn’t lower his fingers, didn’t release the anger coursing through him until she disappeared behind a rocky outcropping.
And when he did, the power did not so much leave him as rip itself free from him, taking will and strength with it. A poignant reminder that, despite the occasional outburst, he was still dying. A reminder lost on him as he gasped, arms falling to his sides and knees buckling as he tried to stay on his feet.
He heard footsteps behind him. Denaos, maybe. Or anyone who wasn’t blind, deaf, or stupid enough not to notice the bolt of lightning that had just gone howling into the sky a moment ago. It didn’t matter. Anyone who wanted him dead wouldn’t have had to try very hard to make it happen.
“I take it I missed something fun, then,” Denaos said as the footsteps came to a halt behind him.
“Greenhair,” Dreadaeleon said, breathing heavily.
“The siren, huh?” The rogue didn’t sound surprised. “Where is she now?”
“Chased her off.” The boy staggered to his feet, turned to face the rogue. “Have to leave. Someone was bound to have seen that lightning. Someone had to have sensed it.”
“They probably would, if there was anyone left to do it.”
“What?”
Denaos jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “It was faster than we expected. The ships have almost all left. Aside from a few left behind to stand guard, there are no more longfaces on the island.”
“Jaga,” Dreadaeleon said. “She wasn’t lying.”
“Huh?”
“They’ve left for Jaga. Going to destroy Ulbecetonth.”
“That’s. . good, right?”
“When has their wanting to destroy something ever worked out well for us?”
“Point.”
“Greenhair said,” the boy paused, his body wracked with a sudden cough, “that they served someone darker, someone older. Even if they didn’t. .” His words devolved into a hacking fit.
“Lenk and the others are on the island,” Denaos finished.
They stared at each other, the realization dawning upon them both, the choice shortly thereafter. Stay here, save Asper and possibly die? Go to Jaga, warn the others and possibly die? Of course, one of them could stay and save her while the other went to warn them and then they’d both certainly die.