Chapter 019

Honor is for fools and the dead.

Harker followed the cliff he’d camped under as the dark pressed close. It was the lowest part of a tall ridge that ascended toward the Gnarl, and soon the trees peeled back from it, allowing his path to be easily scanned in the dim moonlight.

The Eidhrin followed behind, footsteps stumping along the dirt.

Harker felt electric. Adrenaline buzzed through his limbs like a swarm of wasps, refusing to let him stay still. Stillwater dragged his feet, pulled in Harker’s wake like a toddler on apron strings, only far quieter. Too quiet. The Eidhrin watched everything with his pupilless yellow eyes and sour smirk, hands tucked into his pockets as if he were on a casual stroll through the market. He hung back, sometimes as far as a dozen yards behind, but whenever Harker increased his pace the Eidhrin followed suit.

He’s tethered to me. Harker could feel…something…between them. It came and went, as ghostly as a slight breeze. Is twelve yards his limit? What happens if he strays further?

Stillwater didn’t let him find out. He stayed relatively close, though he made it a point to wander off the trail and into the woods several times over the course of the next hour. He’d always come back, but it was unnerving to see his glowing yellow eyes emerge from the deep shadow between trunks. Harker was pretty sure that was the point. His monstrous shape coupled with his human clothing was already off-putting, and something about his gait prickled Harker’s flesh.

Unnerved or not, Harker made sure to mask his reactions beneath studied disconcern. He had years of practice dealing with monsters—until now, they had simply worn human faces. This was a game, and Harker had no intention of losing.

“You wanted an oath of service,” he said after some time. “Why? What use would I be to you?”

Stillwater shook his head, staring off into the woods. “Very little.”

“Then why?”

“Why does the sun rise in the morning, human? Because it chooses to do so.”

“The sun doesn’t choose—”

“Why are you being hunted, human?”

The question caught Harker off guard. Stillwater walked with his hands clasped behind his back, eyes scanning the trees. “Why do you care?”

“I find it curious. Young, even by human standards, is being haunted by what can only be relentless foes.”

“Relentless?” Harker gestured around them. “Do you see such figures?”

Stillwater grinned. “Then we are traversing this forest beyond the midnight hours for leisure?”

“Exercise is good for your health.”

Stillwater’s grin soured. “I’ll not let you sandbag my repayment, human. Tell me true: what hunts you?”

Harker considered the sky. The clouds were rolling in from the south again, where they bunched up against the mountain. Could this be used against him? What was the Eidhrin’s angle? No matter how Harker turned it, he couldn’t find one.

But the right bait can catch the largest fish. A little honesty went a long way, especially when the other person thought they were winning.

“A company of men, the least of which are First Depth Talents. A pair of nobles.” He gave a heavy sigh. “And a Stitcher.”

Laughter broke the night. Harker glanced over his shoulder to see the Eidhrin folded over, eyes almost closed with mirth.

“Oh, is that all? I suppose I am meant to ward them off one by one?”

“No, I don’t plan on fighting them.”

“Still no lies,” Stillwater muttered. “Curious and curiouser.”

Was it so strange not to lie? Harker found them to be inconvenient at best and disastrous at worst. Yet was the truth so grand?

If he’d lied to the Vinell’s, Harker might have reached his cottage and escaped beyond the Drop before the storm or Stitcher fell atop of him. Or you’d have walked right into the Illwroughts anyway.

Harker frowned. He was getting distracted. The Eidhrin stirred his thoughts far too easily. Focus. Why is lying important? And how can Stillwater tell?

The creature was still talking. “I’ve lived a long time, and I’ve rarely seen so many hunting down a single person, let alone a child.” Stillwater spat something green onto the ground. “What have you done to offend them?”

“Nothing on purpose.”

“An accident, then.” Stillwater nodded to himself. “Of course. Misfortune clings to the weak.”

The disregard needled at Harker’s pride, and he nearly replied, but he held himself back. Law 2A—Show Nothing. His ego had suffered worse in the Vale. The creature was hunting information, and he was good. Harker had to turn things around. “So you claim you’re not a Tideling.”

Stillwater stiffened. “Bah! And you doubt it?”

“I don’t know enough, clearly.” Harker opened his arms, palms up. “What makes Gilken so different?”

“Everything! First off, we’re smarter, stronger, and twice as handsome.” Stillwater adjusted his necktie. “Tidelings are spindly, big-eyed bastards who couldn’t bargain with a stone.”

The old tales were rather vague on Eidhrin, other than their appearance being horrible and beautiful at once, and he was starting to doubt that. Still, a great many names existed for the creatures, from Mosskin to Whisperfolk, but Harker hadn’t imagined they’d be separate kinds of beings entirely.

“Gilken are better at bargains then?”

“By far, human, and I am the best.” Stillwater preened, pulling at his suspenders. “Few could best me at my height, and even fewer could survive to regret it.” A watery growl accompanied the last of his words—a not-so-subtle threat.

And a weakness. If others could best Stillwater at his strongest and Harker had, then it stood to reason the Gilken was impaired somehow. Harker could use that.

“The best.” Harker shot the creature a glance over his shoulder. “I heard your whispers, Stillwater. If that is your best, I think you should find a new line of work.”

Stillwater said nothing, but he’d stopped scanning the woods, and stared at Harker for several long minutes. The sound of their feet on stone was loud in the dark, and Harker couldn’t help his rough breathing. He was tired, but there was no reason to admit to that. The game was not yet won.

“What is your Talent, human?”

That pressure returned. It prodded at Harker’s chest around the area where his reservoir sat within him like fingers digging into soft clay. Yet it didn’t get far, as if the clay rebounded, filling in where something tried to grip it.

Harker kept walking, ignoring the pressure. Is that my Stature? Had he always possessed it? Why had he never noticed its presence? It was clearly something to do with Bargains, perhaps a resource akin to his reservoir.

“Well?” Stillwater asked. The pressure redoubled.

Realization was swift. He’s trying to compel me to answer. Harker saw no reason to admit he noticed the attempt.

“Perception. My senses are greatly enhanced.” Harker blinked, a frown bending his face back toward the creature. “How did you do that?”

Stillwater grinned. It was large enough to nearly split his squat head in two, and his finned ears wiggled. “So you have a useless trick.”

“Useful enough to catch you.”

The Gilken’s smile withered. “Yet not enough to face your hunters.”

“Just so. Hence…” Harker gestured to the night and walked a bit faster. Stillwater hustled to keep up.

“Great Tides, human! Your strides are too long by half. Slow!”

A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

Harker didn’t. It was petty, but so was the little monster. “Do you live in the Gallant?”

“What?” Stillwater asked between breaths.

“Do you live—?”

“I heard you, fool. I just couldn’t believe your stupidity.” Stillwater huffed as Harker continued to outpace him. “You haven’t the words to understand my origins.”

“I didn’t ask about your origins. I am wondering why you singled me out. Was it where I decided to enter the Gallant that day? Were you waiting?”

“It’s not every day that a human would vent gallons of the untempered sea directly into the river. It draws notice.”

Harker figured as much. His misdirect had earned him a barnacle on his back. He swallowed and allowed some real worry into his voice. “How’d you notice that?”

That grin again, only this time Stillwater’s eyes flickered from Harker back toward the forest, below them. “You have greater worries on your hands, human.”

Gut sinking, Harker spun.

No more than fifty feet away was a copse of pale trees crowded around a faintly glowing tidepool. Had it not been night, he might have missed it entirely. The Sea bubbled through the pool, lacing the natural spring like poison in a cup, and around it sprang dozens of different plants, all overgrown and oversized. It was a treasure trove for an herbalist had it been unoccupied.

It wasn’t.

Three creatures basked along the shores of the tidepool, small but still half the size of Harker himself. At one time they might have been martens, but their lengthy bodies had been malformed by the Sea’s power. Their dark fur was patterned by silver scales, thickening along the way until their entire hindquarters vanished into a thick, finned tail.

Tide-touched at least. It was the least sort of Bestial Aberrant, if they could be described as such. Mutated but only lightly aggressive. They shouldn’t attack unless provoked.

They were dangerous, certainly, especially to someone without refined skin…but they weren’t Illwrought.