A Painted Goddess (14 page)

The dagger’s tip flew straight into one of the helm’s eyeholes. There was the harsh grinding sound of jammed machinery, and the knight took a halting half step to the left as if trying to right itself. Even as steam shot from the knight’s helm, it resumed its defensive stance, legs spread.

Which was what Maurizan had been counting on.

She was already diving through the knight’s legs as it brought the mace down hard, nearly shattering her ankle but slamming a crater into the floor instead, dust and shards of stone flying up. As she passed, she drew the other dagger and cut the tube at the metal man’s ankle. More steam hissed, the tube flailing loose behind the knight’s foot.

Maurizan rolled through the doors just as they were closing. Soon it would be a wall again, but she’d be on the other side.

At the last second, an armored arm shot through the door and grabbed her by the ankle.

She tried to yank free, but its grip was too tight. If it squeezed any more, it threatened to crush bone. Slashing at the metal fingers with her dagger accomplished nothing.

The walls closed on the knight’s arm, and for a moment, Maurizan thought that was it, but then there was a deep grinding down from deep within the floor, and the walls started to move again, slowly crushing the arm, the metal bending with a groan. A sudden pop, and steam shot from the creases at the wrist and elbow.

As the steam subsided, the metal fingers around Maurizan’s ankle slowly released her. She crawled away, pulling her legs up underneath her, trying to get as far away from the arm as possible.

The steam was spent, and the arm went limp. The walls closed, pinching the metal arm in half and clunking shut, plunging Maurizan again into complete darkness.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Maurizan released her hold on the spirit. Pain and exhaustion flooded her, but not enough to make her pass out this time. She sat back, leaning against the cold stone, panting and trying to force her racing heart to calm.

She gave herself a few minutes to rest, then forced herself to her feet and felt around the interior of this new space. It was a small room, just big enough to contain the three armored non-men. She felt nothing that might be an exit.

Maurizan burst into tears.

She hated herself for it, but just fuck it. She indulged herself, letting the tears flow, great wracking sobs shaking her body.

Okay, you’re frustrated and tired and just fuck this place already, but stop it. You’re done now.

She swallowed her next sob, mastered herself, and wiped her eyes with the heels of her hands. A few deep breaths.

Okay, what haven’t you thought of yet?
She went to her hands and knees and methodically felt every square inch of the floor. Nothing but smooth stone.

When she stood again, she felt something bump against her chest. It was the glass orb swinging from its leather strap. She took hold of it and gave it a hard shake.

Light flared, the little fish circling frantically, and her hope soared, but a second later the light dimmed again. Apparently they hadn’t had enough rest.

But in the brief burst of light, she glimpsed something on the wall to her left.

She went to the wall, feeling around frantically. There! An iron bar stuck into the wall, about a foot wide. Two feet above it, another one. She’d missed the ladder rungs when she’d felt around the walls the first time, her hands groping right past them.

I knew it! There had to be some way in and out to service those metal monstrosities.

She climbed carefully, giddy and giggling. She fully realized how tired and light-headed she was, and that made her laugh even harder.

Then she bumped her head, making a deep, hollow
klung
sound.

Ouch
.

She felt above her. An iron wheel attached to a hatch. She turned the wheel and pushed the hatch open, climbed through to the next level. When she was through, she let the hatch fall closed again with a harsh clang.

More groping. She found stairs going both up and down and started upward without hesitation. She climbed.

And climbed.

At last she reached some sort of landing. She bent over, her hands on knees, panting, rib sore and ankle flaring pain. She was matted with sweat. The air here was so hot and stuffy, it made her miss the cool, watery depths below.

Well, no. Not really.

She eased her way across the floor. Hands up in front of her. Stepping softly.

And hit another set of stairs going up.

Fuck you!

She slumped to the floor at the foot of the stairs and groaned, leaned back against the wall. At the moment, it was difficult to think of anything more appalling than climbing more stairs. Every muscle in her body screamed.

Just rest. Just a minute. Close your eyes and just count to thirty before getting up again
.

She dozed. It was difficult to tell dream from reality, slumber from wakefulness, opening her eyes to darkness or closing them again to see some scene from her imagination. She was with Alem again, walking hand in hand through the Red City’s waterfront bazaar, immersed in the sights and sounds. Such a brief time together.

I’ll never see him again
.

She opened her eyes, saw a light floating down from above. No. Obviously she was still dreaming. It was the moon low against the horizon. She lay on the deck of Miko’s little scow as it bobbed in the swell, Alem beside her, both of them bathed in moonlight, letting the ocean breezes cool them.

The glowing moon twisted into the wrong shape and floated slowly down, swaying back and forth like a leaf falling. She blinked, and Alem was holding the light. In the dim glow he looked like one of the ghosts she’d been so worried about. If only he were real. If only he were here now.

She blinked again and he was kneeling in front of her.

“Maurizan!”

What?

“Maurizan, are you okay?”

How much has happened since I’ve been away?

“Maurizan, it’s me. Alem. Are you okay? Talk to me.”

No. This was impossible. She was dreaming him.

He held a glowing sword.

Okay, I am
definitely
dreaming him
.

But when she reached for his face with trembling hands, he was solid. Flesh. She started crying again but this time didn’t try to stop herself. She pulled his face in close and mashed her lips hard against his, arms going around him, crying and kissing, tasting him and tasting the salt of her own tears.

And then he was lifting her, taking her back up the stairs, and she buried her face into his chest, tears flowing, and it felt like she was being whisked away on a cloud.

She emerged from the hatch at the top of the tower, and the sunlight hit her face. That’s when Maurizan truly believed it. She wasn’t going to die. She breathed in the air, balmy with ocean currents.

She wore Alem’s shirt, heavy with his sweat. It didn’t matter. Nothing could make a dent in her joy and relief. The shirt hung just low enough on her for decency.

More or less.

When Alem had seen the tattoos on her, his eyes had shot wide. Of course, he’d seen the Prime before. On Rina. He’d started to overflow with questions, but Maurizan had stopped him. She’d promised to tell the whole story later, but at that moment all she’d wanted was
out
.

Alem had an arm around her waist to help her stand. In no way did she need help standing. In no way was she going to suggest he remove his arm. She clung to him, leaning in, her head on his shoulder. She had resigned herself to death. Now she wanted to live more than anything in the world.

Mother always said never give up, because fate can turn things around on you in the blink of an eye
.

Alem pointed across the narrow channel of water to the next island. “The cave where I found the body and the sword is halfway down the hill. There’s a stream with fresh water. Fruit trees too.”

“Good.” As soon as Maurizan heard the word
water
, she felt a fierce thirst. All she could think was how much she wanted to get to Alem’s little island, to eat and drink.

A flash of white caught her attention on the blue water. She pointed out to sea. “What’s that?”

“The ocean.”

She laughed, pointed more earnestly. “No.
That
.”

Alem shaded his eyes against the sun, squinted in the direction she was pointing. At first it wasn’t easy to spot the little scow among the whitecaps, but once he saw it he couldn’t believe he’d ever missed it. The little sailboat was incredibly close, sails full and heading more or less straight for them. “It’s them! I can see Miko at the tiller. That’s Tosh up at the bow. It’s them! It’s them!”

Alem jumped up and down, screaming and waving his arms. “Hey! Over here!”

Maurizan was already throwing one leg over the battlements to climb down. “Come on!”

Alem rushed to her. “Wait, are you okay to—”

“Try to stop me.”

By the time they were at the bottom, they saw the boat plowing through the surf toward them. They were close enough now to see Tosh’s big grin. He waved frantically at them.

Alem and Maurizan ran through the trees toward the beach, whooping joy and giggling.

Her arms and legs ached. The bruised rib flared pain every time her feet hit the ground, as did her ankle, but she didn’t care. She ran ahead of Alem, laughing and carefree.

Maurizan burst from the tree line, bare feet sinking into the hot sand of the beach. The water looked cool and inviting. She felt so happy to see the shabby little scow, she thought she might dive in and swim all the way out to—

Sudden movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention. She started to turn her head—

Pain exploded across her face.

The world spun. She tried to keep her feet but stumbled. Trying to make her legs work was like stepping in deep holes, and a second later she was on her hands and knees, spitting blood into the sand. She ran her tongue along her teeth. Two on the left side were loose. Through the ringing in her ears she heard Alem yelling her name and running fast toward her.

She looked up. Kristos stood there, naked, glistening, and wet. He’d obviously just come out of the water. He held a spear with a long, thin head. Maurizan had obviously taken the blunt end of it in the face.

Alem stood next to her now, sword up. “Get away from her!”

If Kristos tapped into the Prime—and certainly he would—Alem wouldn’t have a chance. She tried to warn him back, but she’d bitten her tongue. She spit more blood. Her whole face throbbed.

Kristos stood casually, leaning on the spear, taking almost no notice of Alem. He smiled down at Maurizan. “You got past the guardian, I see. I had a good feeling about you.”

She worked her jaw, the pain in her mouth subsiding just enough to talk. “How many have you sent down there?” The words came out thick. Her tongue was swollen, and she had a fat lip.

“A half dozen or so over the years,” Kristos said. “I knew there was more ink magic in the fortress, and after the creature nearly killed me, I wasn’t about to chance it again. But I knew from talking with the Moogari where the treasures were likely hidden. You found the hall of the inventors, yes? According to the Moogari, each was preserved with his or her greatest tattoo. The great wizards invented hundreds of them during the Mage Wars. I send others to do my searching for me. They come from everywhere, explorers and adventurers lured by the legends of the ancient wizards. Most don’t make it as far as these islands. They go the wrong direction or get caught in a storm; ships sink. But I find a castaway now and then. You’re the first one to succeed. And now that you’ve cleverly found another way in and out, I can explore at my leisure without risking the guardian.”

“By all means.” Maurizan gestured up the hill. “Explore to your heart’s content.”

A wide grin. “I will.” Then the grin fell, and he reached out a hand. “But first, I’ll take that satchel. Simply hand it over, and you and this lad can join your friends in the boat. You’re lucky, you know. Few people who fall overboard in these waters are fortunate enough to find themselves afloat again.”

“She’s not giving you a damn thing,” Alem said, wagging the sword at him for emphasis. “Swim away.”

“You’re a second from death, boy.” Kristos squinted at the sword. “That’s an interesting toy. Do you know how to use it?”

“I hold the handle,” Alem said. “Pointy end toward you.”

Kristos laughed and turned back to Maurizan. “Truly, your bodyguard is an opponent to be reckoned with. If you don’t want him to die, hand over the satchel.”

There wasn’t a doubt in Maurizan’s mind that Kristos meant it. She had to give him the satchel. Dumo bless Alem for good intentions, but he didn’t have a chance against an ink mage. She had to hand over the satchel right now.

But she didn’t.

The items in this satchel are mine. I earned them. My tattoos. I risked my life for them. They’re
mine.

Then Maurizan heard her mother’s voice, warning her. She’d had the Prime less than forty-eight hours and already she wanted
more
. Hadn’t she been cautioned against this very occurrence? The power just made one want more power. It was never enough.

I don’t care!

She tapped into the spirit.

For a long moment, the three of them waited, frozen, taut as a bowstring.

Alem gripped his sword hilt tighter, and the slight movement was enough to set them off.

Kristos brought the spear down for a strike, lightning quick and yet still too slow. Maurizan rolled out of the way, drawing her daggers, the spearhead striking the sand.

Kristos might have been able to follow up with a deathblow to her back, but Alem moved in with a clumsy sword swing. The Fish Man parried it with a backhand swing of the spear, then spun it in his hands, bringing the butt end down atop Alem’s head. Alem’s eyes rolled up, knees buckling, and he went down.

The Fish Man turned to see Maurizan’s daggers coming at him. He sidestepped the lunge of the first dagger and deflected the next with the spear.

Maurizan pressed the attack. She hadn’t rested enough since the last time she’d tapped into the spirit. She didn’t know how long she could keep this up. The only hope for victory lay in ending this
fast.

She swiped, jabbed, and lunged with the daggers, all the while remembering what her mother had told her.
The Prime doesn’t give you anything extra, but it does give you complete access to everything you already have
.

Since she was a toddler and old enough to hold the daggers, Maurizan had been taught her people’s way of fighting. Quick and lithe, a blade in each hand. A style as much dancing as fighting—duck, dodge, strike, withdraw. Tapped into the spirit, she remembered every lesson. Every move. Perfect technique. Maurizan was the master of a fighting style her people had passed down from generation to generation.