Spellbreaker (4 page)

Nicodemus realized what was happening. New divinities were incarnated when enough people prayed for resolution of a certain problem. All goals that helped answer those prayers were known as a deity's requisites. Fulfillment of requisite caused the magical text of a prayer to be dispersed from an ark stone to the deity.

One of the dying god's requisites was to aid Nicodemus. Satisfying this requisite by telling him about Leandra was causing prayerful text to be released from arks across the archipelago to his body. However, the dying god's other requisite was to increase misspelling; therefore, the surge of textual power was forcing him to misspell himself.

“What is it? What happened to Leandra?” Nicodemus asked.

“Leandra believes…” he said between labored breaths, “that in the next … next day … she will try to murder her mother.” With that, the dying god unraveled into darkness.

“Oh damn it all,” Nicodemus groaned, “not again.”

 

CHAPTER THREE

How can one investigate a murder that hasn't yet been committed? And how, exactly, should such an investigator proceed when she will become the murderer? Leandra wrestled with these questions while sailing to Keyway Island.

Navigating the eastern waters of the Bay of Standing Islands required great skill; the vertical islands were dense enough to obscure the horizon, tall enough to block many of the stars. Only natives could sail the stone labyrinth safely, and Leandra had taught only her most loyal captains the way to Keyway Island.

Presently on a mile-long stretch of open water, the catamaran was making good speed, but soon the sailors would have to close-reef the sails and paddle from the catamaran's two hulls.

From her customary spot on the forward center deck, Leandra watched the moonlit water slide below. Her concentration was periodically broken by the disease flare she had ignited when misspelling the smuggler's godspell. First had come a dull bellyache. Then her wrists and fingers began to throb. Fortunately she hadn't developed a rash or needed to pee frequently; if things got that bad, she might have to start taking the hydromancer's stress hormone to suppress her body's attack on her textual aspects.

Most importantly, the divine aspects of her mind had not begun to expand her perception; that would threaten both her sanity and her ability to breathe. She prayed that her body would show her a little mercy, not that she deserved any. But if her two aspects, divine and human, could refrain from attacking each other for just a little longer, the present flare would prove a mild one.

Then Leandra realized that by using the godspell around her head, she already knew that in an hour's time the majority of her future selves would still be anxious, achy, fatigued, and cranky. “Rot it all,” she muttered before taking a deep breath and trying to think clearly about the prophecy she had made using the godspell.

Now as before, she had no doubts. If she tried to run from this prophecy, everyone she knew would soon die. But if she did not run, she would have to choose between her own death and committing murder. If she tried again to misspell the godspell so that she saw farther than an hour into the future, the multiplicity of her future selves would drive her insane.

The only thing left to do was to investigate her murders. So … whom might she have to kill and why? She fingered a slim leather wallet she kept tied at her waist. Inside she kept enough needles and poison to kill without pain or mess.

When the time came would she kill the loved one or herself? Hard to say. There would be a great deal on the line, and she had never been one to balk at a necessary task. Then again, her body had been trying to kill her for thirty-three years. Maybe, out of pure spite, she'd beat it to its task. The thought made her smirk.

Then she realized that she was being dramatic, a bad habit. And she didn't allow herself bad habits, only addictions, so … time to focus on investigation.

But, God-of-gods damn it, how?

As the Warden of Ixos, she had investigated dozens of murders thought to have been committed by neodemons or their devotees. Her parents had taught her how to do so, something of the family trade.

In most of her previous investigations, Leandra had discovered the guilty deities and converted or killed them. Several times the murders had gone unsolved. But she had been able to examine a corpse, gather evidence, interview witnesses. In her present situation, there wouldn't be a corpse until she made one, and there damn well wouldn't be any evidence or witnesses because she wouldn't be so sloppy as to allow any.

There was, however, at least one analogy to her previous investigations. Instead of listing suspected killers, she could list suspected victims. So watching the moonlit waves slide under the catamaran's center deck, Leandra considered everyone she loved.

It didn't take very long.

For one thing, she had to consider only those she loved so much that murdering them would cause her the extreme agony that she had sensed through the prophetic text. For another thing, she didn't love many people.

That realization made her smirk at the dark water and, by extension, at the idiocy of the universe.

So, anyway, her list of loved ones. First was her illustrious father, Lord Nicodemus Weal, Warden of Lorn, and—depending on whom you asked—the righteous Halcyon or the demonic Storm Petrel. If he discovered what she was concealing, Leandra might have a motive for patricide. But she doubted Nicodemus would ever discover her secrets, or if he did that he would react in a way that would require violence.

Second there was her draconic mother, Magistra Francesca DeVega, first Physician of the Clerical Order, Warden of Dral. If the true contents of Leandra's heart were ever made plain, the one most likely to endanger Leandra would be her mother.

Just then Leandra's focus was crowded out by unwelcome memories of fourteen years past. The Goldensward War had brought empire and league to the brink of total war. Leandra and her mother had been in Port Mercy at the time. What had happened next … seeing her mother's teeth like that … well … only by the thinnest of chances had mother and daughter survived each other. Leandra thought of her mother's teeth and tried to shut out those memories.

Then with profound relief, Leandra remembered that her mother was in the South. Two months ago, Leandra had received a report from Dral that Francesca and her followers were in Warth—too far away to murder.

Odd. An hour previous, she had felt through the godspell that some of her future selves were relieved. Sensing an emotion before its experience was like hearing an echo before the shout.

Leandra looked away to the standing islands. At the waterline the bay had worn the limestone to pillars upon which the rocky islands balanced. Atop the larger islands stood jungle-covered ruins—walls and rock piles mostly. These were the remains of the ancient Lotus city of Sukrapor, destroyed by a long-ago war with the Sea People's deities.

Leandra's thoughts returned to her possible victims. There were other names she could add, but none seemed very likely to incite her to murder.There was an ancient woman who had taken care of her when she was a child. And there was Thaddeus, a scholar of the Cloud Culture and her long-ago lover … but she had little feeling left for him. In fact, she said a short prayer that, if she had to kill anybody, it would be him.

This thought made her, again, quirk a smile at the dark water and by extension the idiotic universe.

A thought occurred to her: She had been considering people presently in Chandralu, but every night ships from all six human kingdoms sailed into port. “Pass the word for Captain Holokai,” she said. Lieutenant Peleki, standing near the mast, echoed her call and the sailors repeated it down the ship. A moment later, Holokai presented himself.

The captain stood six and a half feet tall. Handsome if slightly too angular features, clean shaven head and face. But it was his complexion that was most remarkable; on his chest and face, he had fair skin that never tanned or burned. Yet his limbs and back were dark, almost gray.

Presently Holokai wore a lungi, bright red with a white fern pattern, tied in the style of the Sea People. In his right hand, he held a leimako—a stylized paddle, the blade of which was serrated with mako shark teeth. Among the Sea People, the leimako was a weapon restricted to great warriors and leaders. In Holokai's hands, this particular leimako had unusual properties.

Holokai tried to regard Leandra with his usual casual smile, but his dark eyes betrayed a concern. He knew something strange had happened on the beach with the smuggler.

Leandra felt the fist of her emotions loosen in his presence as she had prophetically felt an hour previous—again an echo-before-the-shout emotion.

Looking at Holokai, Leandra realized that if she were honest with herself, truly honest, she had better add another name to the list of potential victims. “Captain, I have strange questions for you. Come closer.”

Frowning, Holokai did so. Privacy aboard a fighting catamaran was rare. Nearly every spoken word would be overheard and repeated by some sailor. Asking for a private conference would sow gossip among the crew. Not a good thing, but not an avoidable one either.

“Old friend…” Leandra whispered before trailing off. What, exactly, did one ask of a friend one might soon murder? “Screw it all,” she muttered. “Can you think of a reason why I might want to kill you sometime early tomorrow morning?”

Holokai snorted. “Hey, Lea,” he said in the rolling accent of the Inner Islands Sea People, “can you think of a reason why you wouldn't want to kill me? Especially if we had another night—”

“Kai, I'm serious. From the smuggler's prophetic text, I learned that tomorrow morning I'll have to choose between killing someone I trust—” no need to say “love” around him “—or dying myself. So, why might I kill you tomorrow morning?”

Holokai's smile fell. “You're not fooling.”

“Not fooling.”

“Can't you just run away—”

“There's no running, no way to avoid it. It'd be a piss-poor prophecy if I could avoid it by drinking myself stupid. And, before you ask, I can't sense more than an hour into the future again without going insane.” Leandra tried to soften her tone. “Look, Kai, something big has started. So, why might I have to kill you? I'm asking.”

Holokai looked to see if the lieutenant was listening then turned back to her. “No, Lea, not unless you changed your mind about…” He blushed slightly. “You know, my requisite to give the people of my island a son.”

“No, I haven't changed my mind. We both know my disease prevents my helping you there. Our agreement stands. But is there a reason I should change my mind? Should I doubt my trust in you?”

“No, Lea.” His eyes searched her face. “No.”

Leandra frowned. Did he seem just slightly guilty? Or would anyone feel a bit jumpy if so questioned? “Is there something you want to tell me, Kai?”

“Lea … no…”

She remained silent, which was in her opinion the best way to wring out a confession.

He stared at her a bit longer, the blush growing across his pale cheeks.

“Do you,” she asked calmly, “have any reason to be displeased with me?”

“Oh, no.… No, no,” He said quickly. In daylight, his face would be red as a hibiscus blossom.

At last Leandra took pity. Loud enough for the lieutenant to hear, she asked, “How long would it take you to search for new ships in the bay or ships that will enter the Cerulean Strait by tomorrow morning? I need to know if I might expect anyone new in Chandralu.”

He looked westward. “I'd need to cover about a hundred miles or so to be certain. But sixty miles should give us a good enough idea, and I've been feeling strong lately, so…” His gaze went soft as his mind became a calculus of winds and tides. “Considering it all, that should give us a pretty good idea of who's gonna tie up to the docks tomorrow. You give me five hours, maybe six, I'll get it done.”

“Your speed is always impressive.”

He spoke softly. “Maybe I'll impress you with more than speed later, hey?”

Leandra rolled her eyes. “If you can get it done, Captain.”

“Lea, there's one more thing?”

“Oh?”

“I wasn't going to say nothing, but since you're telling me all this, maybe it's a night for strange things to happen.”

Leandra tapped her index fingers together in the Sea Culture gesture for “Get on with it then.”

“So I thought I saw something flying between the standing islands behind us.”

“Flying?”

He scratched his chin. “Sounds strange, hey? I'd say it was a pelican but it seemed too big, too fast. Thing is, it's not a deity. I would have sensed that. And I'm not even sure I did see it. Maybe just jumpy, you know?”

Scowling, Leandra looked aft at the standing islands in their wake. She saw only moonlit rock and vegetation. “You're sure there's no ship following us to Keyway? Now would be a very, very bad time to be discovered.”

“I'm sure.”

“All right. Before you go searching for new ships, double back along our wake to make sure no one's following.”

He paused. “Lea, you get us into trouble?”

“No.”

“How bad?”

“I said I didn't get us into trouble.”

“As bad as when that mercenary elephant god turned neodemon?”

“That was barely a skirmish.”

“We only got out of his camp alive because his lieutenant went insane, and they still ambushed me at the shore.”

Leandra rolled her eyes. “You recovered from the crushed pelvis the very next day.”

“So we're in hotter water now? How hot? As bad as the jellyfish neodemon or the mosquito goddess?”

Leandra suppressed a shudder. “We got out of those scrapes alive,” she said, though in truth, many in their party had not. “Kai, you're fretting again. Let me do that. We're not in trouble now, but we will be if you don't follow your orders.”