Sunstone - Dishonor's Bane (Book 2) (3 page)

The thick wooden gates opened and Shiro led his horse into the courtyard. He noticed the designs in the gravel. The roof tiles were the darkest of blues, nearly black, and the wooden structure looked weathered and dull. The whole place looked incredibly dreary.

“Stay here,” the guard said as he walked across the carefully raked circles and lines in the fine gravel of the courtyard. As he made his way across, the intricate patterns returned, erasing his footsteps. The effect made the hair rise on the back of Shiro’s neck. Of course, he’d never seen magic performed before, other than visiting festival magicians that lit fire dragons and so forth.

A fat little sorcerer waddled out and demanded to see Shiro’s sticks and tattoos. Evidently that wasn’t enough.

“Hold this.” The man thrust a pale blue marble into Shiro’s hand.

Shiro glared at the sorcerer. “Will I have to be tested again and again?” He curled his lip and tried to calm down. “Piki, Paki, Poki.” Shiro thought of a blooming chrysanthemum, radiating the light of spring. He looked down at the marble and saw a huge flower with waves of light flowing through the petals floating above the stone.

The sorcerer took a step back, eyes wide. “I, I, I didn’t know.”

“Know what?” Another sorcerer walked up, this one nearly as tall as Shiro and commanding, with red-dyed streaks in long flowing hair. A tiny topknot had been wound at the crown of his head. Shiro didn’t need an introduction to know that this was a high-ranking sorcerer. He could nearly feel the arrogance and disdain that radiated from the man.

“This man has the tattoo of a high-level sorcerer, yet his stick says he’s a beginning apprentice, Lord Roniki.”

“Impossible. Someone made a mistake.” Roniki looked at the tattoo, still surrounded by reddened skin from the needles. “Newly tattooed.” Roniki sneered.

“This stick claims that this man is a farmer from a rural village,” the little sorcerer said.

Roniki lifted up his chin. “He won’t stay here. The thing needs proper chastening at the guild house. I care not for the antics of rural wildings. Buy his horse, find him a ship and send him on his way.”

“But with that kind of power, does he not deserve to spend the night with us?”

Roniki twisted his face as if Shiro stunk. “Sorcerer’s only. By my decree, apprentices don’t count, especially for a peasant with some pretense at power.”

Roniki commanded the guard to cast Shiro out into the street. “Wait here until I return,” the little sorcerer said as he made his way past him down to the wharves.

An hour later, a foot woke Shiro up. “Wake, you.” The little sorcerer tossed a bag of coins and a scroll stick in his lap. “Money for transportation and a token for passage aboard the Wicked Wind. It leaves in a few hours. You’d better go before Lord Roniki finds you here. He eats apprentices at every meal.” He laughed at his cruel little joke, but his face softened. “I’m sorry. You should have been welcomed at the Guild and been given special attention, but the lord is very powerful in the Guild hierarchy and his word must be obeyed here, even though he visits us from Boriako. The captain of the Wicked Wind will give you better care than you’ll ever receive from Lord Roniki.”

Shiro rose and stretched, not impressed with his treatment by a fellow in magic, even though the little sorcerer seemed very apologetic. As he made his way to the sea, he wondered if the little man had been kidding with him. He had no idea how he had created the flower. He had just thought of it. He shook his head as he walked down to the waterfront. The smell of the ocean became stronger as the way became steeper, dipping down to the shore.

~~~

Chapter Three

~

S
hiro shook his head and grinned
as he boarded the large junk. He’d never been on a sea-going vessel before and there they were, lined up like pigs to a trough on the many piers lining the harbor at Hoksaka. None of the men looked particularly friendly as he stepped onto the teak deck of the Wicked Wind. He looked up at the many ribs in the sails. He wondered why they didn’t make them out of one big piece of cloth.

“Examining my rigging, apprentice?” A man dressed better than the crewmen.

“I am. Why not one sheet?”

“Good observation. The winds through the eastern strait are too robust. Men have tried the single sails that they use in the north, but always they shred, even though they take more wind. I’m Captain Mistokko and you are aboard my ship, th
e
Wicked Win
d
.”

Shiro gave the sailmaster a bow. “Shiro, formerly of Koriaki Farm #22, speaks to you.” A little formality wouldn’t hurt, he thought. “I’m glad that I’m on the right boat.”

“Ship.” The way he spoke the word was reproof enough for using the wrong term. Not a good start.

“On your honorable ship, then. I am anxious to arrive in Boriako.”

Mistokko repeated the bow. “We will be at sea for two to three weeks. How can I be of assistance to a new apprentice?”

“I have no idea. I have lived a life without sorcerers and Affinity and magic. I am willing to work while traveling. I’m an able person and can help your crew.” Shiro had never been aboard a boat… no, ship. He’d never learned how to sail and might as well take the opportunity to learn.

“Do you know how to use a sword? I need a sparring partner. The last one left my employ a few months back.” Mistokko smiled and narrowed his eyes. The man obviously sought to scare Shiro, but that wouldn’t happen.

“I have been honored to hold a blade of steel in my hand before. I’m not sure how proficient I am. My father taught me all I know, but I only practiced with him. There were no other swordsmen in the village. If you are better than him, I’d be happy to learn more.”

Looking up at sailors in the rigging, Mistokko said, “A wise choice. Putting you among my crew might be risky. I have seen too many accidents in my time for those who would choose to displace one of my crew.”

More words of intimidation. He yearned for the straightforward give and take in the village. He wondered if all conversations carried warnings of some kind or another. Shiro didn’t know if they were true or bluster. He imagined that they contained elements of both. He’d have to be careful.

The ship departed from Hoksaka at twilight as the tide slid out. Shiro barely noticed the flurry of activity above him on deck as he lay down in his closet of a cabin below the high tail of the ship. He drifted back to sleep and woke to the sway of the vessel on the water. His stomach began to protest while he staggered onto the deck.

“Not there, on the other side,” a crewman said, turning him around towards the opposite railing. Shiro rubbed sleep out of his eyes as the wind blew in his face. He made it to the other side and leaned over the railing and groaned. As he emptied the contents of his stomach into the roiling waters, the wind blew back some of those contents back at him.

He heard laughter behind as he turned to see a gaggle of crewmen laughing at his misfortune.

The unmistakable laughter of Mistokko rained down on him from above. He stood at the top of a platform on the ship’s tail holding onto a vertical crank. It must work the rudder, Shiro thought as he looked for a barrel of water to sluice the worst off his soiled clothes. His stomach rebelled again and this time he ran to the other side of the ship, so that what little remained to rise from his stomach flew away into the sea. He turned around and the crewman that gave him the bad advice threw a bucket of saltwater over his clothes.

“Thank you,” Shiro said with as much dignity as he could muster. He noticed the rope tied onto the bucket’s handle. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to do that a few more times, but I hesitate to keep you from your duties, so I’m willing to fetch the water myself.” The crewmen laughed again.

“Well said,” Mistokko said from above.

“Shinku, give the man your bucket and get to swabbing the deck where Shiro met his misfortune on the other side.”

The crewman, Shinku, didn’t laugh that time and went to grab another bucket and a stiff-brushed broom while Shiro quickly learned to time the dipping of the bucket with the roll of the ship.

After a few more buckets, Shiro felt that he had washed off most of what he needed to. He asked the sailmaster if he could join him on his perch.

“Rise to my level farmer, if you can.”

Shiro looked for a ladder and didn’t find any. “Where is the ladder?”

Mistokko shook his head and then leaned back in laughter. “There isn’t any. Come up, if you can.” The captain raised his hands and rose into the air and gradually settled down to the main deck.

“You’re a sorcerer!” Shiro said. “I thought—”

“You thought a common captain couldn’t put Affinity to use on a ship?” Mistokko laughed again, clapping Shiro’s shoulders. He grabbed Shiro’s arm and peered at the tattoo. “Mmmm, seventh-level, at least. I should have charged the Guild triple what I accepted. You’ll soon have the Hierarchy’s robes in a bunch.”

What did this strange seaman mean? Shiro still stank of vomit and Mistokko wanted to play jokes. He shook off his remaining sickness and felt angry and abused by this man’s good humor. “I don’t know anything except I can make the Guild’s pretty balls appear as flames or as a flower. Those aren’t very useful abilities, are they?”

“You made one appear to burn?” Mistokko stroked his long thin beard. “You’re not a seventh-level.”

“See!  It’s all a mistake. Perhaps you can explain that I’m not what I seem and let me return to Koriaki.” Shiro decided then and there that he’d seen enough of the world.

“Not so fast, farmer. I’d rate you as easily eighth level if you were able to image fire. And a flower you say?”

“On a marble,” Shiro said.

“Apprentices should only be able to change the color.”

Perhaps the clouds would darken and lightning destroy him where he stood. Levels meant nothing to Shiro, but eight was higher than seven. At least he knew his numbers.

“Come with me.” Mistokko rose in the air and set himself down on the upper deck. “Try and picture the flight of a bumblebee, slowly rising and falling to catch the pollen on a purple flower. Then put yourself into that bumblebee.”

Shiro noticed the sailors had all stopped what they were doing and watched the encounter. He only heard the creaking of the ship and felt the roll of the ship. Then he closed his eyes. He pictured himself on his farm, tending to his wife’s garden. He imagined the bumblebee and watched it pull its large body up to a flower. Shiro concentrated and became the bumblebee.

The cries from the sailors made him open his eyes and he floated ten feet above the floor of the main deck. The spell broke and Shiro fell heavily back down on the thick unyielding boards. His legs exploded in pain.

Mistokko put his hands on his hips and looked down from his deck. “I’m not a healer, farmer.” Mistokko said quietly. “I truly didn’t expect you to rise more than a few inches. You’ve a lot to learn and you won’t be learning all of it from me… not on my ship.”

The captain drifted back down to the deck and lifted Shiro up and put him into the arms of Shinku and another sailor. “Put him in his cabin and have the cook see to him.” Mistokko patted Shiro on his shoulder, “Sorry.”

Shiro barely heard the words through the pain as they put him into his hammock. A few minutes later, the worst breath Shiro had ever sensed coming out of a person’s mouth brought him around.

“Two jammed ankles? Let’s hope they’re not broken,” the cook said. He wheezed as he removed Shiro’s sandals. The pain brought tears to his eyes as the cook worked his feet. “Yeah, not broken. Quite a performance they say.” The cook cackled as he pulled two long strips of cloth from a bag he had carried into Shiro’s miniscule cabin. “Old sailcloth. Works wonders as bandages. Gotta wrap those tight to keep the swelling down.” The man whistled some kind of tune through the few teeth remaining in his head as he went to work.

“That feels better,” Shiro said as he could breathe easier without the pain.

“I’m an expert. Not as grand as Captain Mistokko, though. He has magical power and all I’ve got are me wits,” the cook said. “Don’t unwrap those until morning tomorrow. Then walk easily. Don’t know what kind of damage there is, but I didn’t find anything broken. You’re lucky!” He cackled and mumbled his way out of Shiro’s cabin. “Bring you something to eat presently.” Shiro didn’t know if the cook would remember to make good on his promise.

He didn’t. Shinku showed up much later with a bowl of rice and bits of fish in a seaweed broth. “Cook forgot you didn’t show up for evening meal. The captain has appointed me nursemaid. All because of a harmless joke.” The sailor shook his head.

“Regardless, I appreciate your bringing me something to eat,” Shiro said as he began to slurp up his dinner. He seemed to have left the seasickness somewhere back towards Hoksaka.

“Captain wants to play swords with you tomorrow, if you’re able. He’ll take you up on his deck. Told me you don’t have to worry about doing that flying thing,” Shinku said. He couldn’t keep the corners of his mouth down as he said it. “Quite enjoyable, that. Never seen such a thing. No, indeed, no little bumblebee. The rest of us use the ladder that’s stowed away.”

“I’m not happy about being laughed at,” Shiro said. He knew from previous experience that if you didn’t bite back, you’d never be taken seriously.

Shinku looked down,  “No, sir, no. It was such a thing, though.”

Shiro smiled as he pictured what he must have looked like. “I live to entertain,” he said, “but I think my entertaining is finished for this voyage.”

‘I wouldn’t be so hasty, sir. The captain does have his way with a sword and with that tongue of his. If you don’t know how to handle a sword, there might be some more entertainment on the way.”

Shiro pursed his lips. “Thanks for the food, Shinku. I’d be happy if you left me to my misery.”

“Certainly, sir, certainly,” said Shinku, giving Shiro a curt bow of the head as he left the cabin.

~

Shiro woke up feeling much better. The rolling of the ship no longer bothered his stomach and there didn’t seem to be any major pain in his feet, just a general ache. He rose and sought the cook. The sailors had already eaten their breakfast. Shiro bolted down a rice bowl and more broth that tasted just like what he had for dinner.

Mist filled the air on the deck and the ship didn’t sway as much as the previous day.

“We’ve hit a calm, farmer,” Mistokko said from his perch. “I’d call up some wind, but I don’t want to waste my power. We’ll wait a bit to see if more wind comes. Let’s take advantage of the smooth seas and get a little exercise with weapons.”

Perhaps that was a good thing, Shiro thought. He’d played with swords all of his life. His father had been a guard in Boriako before he married and taught his son all he knew. Shiro didn’t know if that was a lot or a little, but at least he thought he knew enough to defend himself. Perhaps today he would find the measure of his learning.

Shiro peered at his hand. How much Affinity rested within his fingers, his heart, his brain. He also had a mind that didn’t need magic to work acceptably well. He put his hand to his chest and felt it rise as he took a deep breath and held it.

Purpose blossomed in his mind. He wouldn’t be driven to the Guild in Boriako, but he would gladly go, willingly and of his own volition. How much did he know? How much power? How much talent to shape the raw magic that flowed through his veins? How much magic did the vessel of his body hold? He would know once he had been taught and tested. At that point he would make his own decisions and determine his own fate.

He watched his hand, as it curled into a fist, and he closed his eyes, clinging to his new perspective.

“Nervous, farmer?” Mistokko said, lowering a ladder to the main deck.

Shiro looked up. “No longer.” He looked up at Mistokko and willed his body to stand on the upper deck— a vision and thought of purpose. In a moment, he stood looking at the captain.

Mistokko raised his eyebrows. “After your fall yesterday, that’s quite a feat. I’d like to own those nerves.” The captain laughed and turned to a cupboard built into the railing. “Our weapons today.” He held two wooden swords. Long and thin with a slight curve, only one side had a hint of sharpness. The echo of a lord’s weapon. His father’s sword was a lord’s weapon.

Shiro looked about the upper deck. The wooden floor held a shiny polish with dark and light boards creating stripes on the surface. The railing carried designs of flowers, birds and fruit through the carved vines. Another sailor tended to the steering levers, rather than Mistokko.

“You admire my deck, farmer? I spend most of my time up here, so I have made it a place of beauty.”

The lower deck had been utilitarian, but the sumptuousness of the upper deck brought an element of understanding about the captain. Mistokko held himself above his sailors in all things, but then such as it was between lords and men. Would Mistokko be counted as a lord aboard his ship? An adept in magic, graduate of the Guild, but without sorcerer responsibilities? Perhaps Shiro could hold out hope for a less-restrained life than a cloistered guild-member.