Page 77 of Dark Water Daughter

I played another song and sang itthrough—fastand humorous and a little bawdy. After the third I abandoned the harpsichord altogether and simply sang, clapping and stomping the rhythm as patrons began to join in. I knew these songs like I knew how tobreathe—theywere the staples of my father’s inn back at the Wold. But folk songs, it seemed, transcended country and language.

The rafters rang with choruses and beer sloshed from glasses. Soon I was breathless, but I decided to put in one last song.

“Elm, she hates mankind, and waits till every gust be laid, to drop a limb on the head of him that anyway trusts her shade.”

The company faded out, and I began to sing of the Wold. I sang of each tree, of their whispers and their personalities, the feel of their shadows, the rustle of midsummer leaves and the way they creaked and cracked in the winter chill. I could have sworn that I heard those creaks as I sang, the very wood of the floor and pillars responding tome—thoughthat, of course, was impossible.

The company joined in again on the final chorus, carelessly overpronouncing the Aeadine words in their varied accents. Then they clapped and pounded the tables, I curtsied, and dropped from the stage with awhumpof skirts.

Back at the table, Grant pulled out my chair and handed me a cup. The last thing I needed was more wine, but a sniff told me this was watered down enough not to put me on the floor.

“Why is a Stormsinger like you in Hesten?” Farro asked. He looked pensive, and a little unnerved. That seemed to be the most common response at the table, though Red Lips looked distrustful and Earrings had turned away to murmur to someone at another table.

“If I may,” Grant interjected gently. “I am happy to discuss, but perhaps there is somewhere more private?”

Mallan nodded. “I’ll arrange for a room. I can direct other curious parties there?”

Grant nodded, his satisfaction locked away behind a gracious nod. “Why, of course.”

AN EXCERPT FROM:

A HISTORY OF GHISTLORE AND THE BLESSED; THOSE BOUND TO THE SECOND WORLD AND THE POWER THEREIN

A ghisting may be freed if its physical form (its wood, whether tree or figurehead) is degraded beyond convenient habitation.

WHEN A GHISTEN TREEis harvested, all remaining roots and branches must be destroyed, save that in which the maker desires the being to dwell. In many cases, one may carry a ghisting within a simple shard from its previous dwelling, provided the rest of the dwelling (for example, its tree or figurehead) is destroyed. This is most useful in the salvaging of wrecked ships, where the valuable ghisting can be carried back to civilization with minimal effort. Fire, naturally, is the most affectatious means to this end. It must be noted, however, that more powerful ghistings may require a greater quantity of salvaged wood to retain them. Otherwise these may be accidentally released, their will overcoming the constraints of their depleted host substance.

If a ghisting is released, whether by accident, malice or natural means, it may soon fade back into the Other, or drift for a vast time, searching for the nearest Ghistwold and the company of its own. But all will eventually fade into the Other and be lost. It therefore remains the duty of each vessel’s captain and officers to retrieve their ship’s ghisting at all costs in case of wreck or capture.

TWENTY-SEVEN

Sam and Helena Make a Plan

SAMUEL

Nine bells chimed across a quiet, mild evening in Hesten.Hartwas wrapped in twilight, punctuated by streetlamps and warmly lit windows, set in rows above the shops and warehouses of the appropriately termedTemweish—deepdocks—wherea series of locks cut the ships off from receding tides. Only the finest foreign ships were docked here, though in the winter, only the finest ships made it to Usti at all. My frequent slips into the Other told me that all the other vessels here had ghistings, and most of them had the trapped light of a Stormsinger in their bellies too.

I did not think Mary was among them, at least not the ships close to us. Her light always had a grey edge to it, and these singers were a more typical, melancholy teal.

On the rail of the ship before me, I tilted the book from the Mereish jeweler towards the moonlight. I could not risk any of the crew seeing me read a book with Mereish lettering, but there was so little light I could barely make it out myself.

Under the sun, there exists three types of magickers, and many Adjacent. First, the Magni, who control the heart and impulse of those around them. Second, the Weather Witches, whose power over wind, cloud and water is dictated by voice and impulse alike. Third are the Sooth, those who interact with that Second Plane, glimpsing the past and future. As to the Adjacent, we find many variants which may fall within the following classes: First find the Ghiseau, those bound through spirit to wood and blood. Second and likewise, the High Mariner, who captains her ship through will alone. There are the Summoners, who beckon and tame creatures of that Other World. The Mage-Healers serve both their own kind and humanity with their curative gifts. Lastly are the Variants, being those who possess two or more of the above powers and attributes.

I stopped reading and stared down at the last few sentences, baffled. I had known the Mereish had bizarre ideas regarding the Other and magic, but theseGhiseauand Summoners sounded like much more than culturaleccentricities—theywere pure folklore.

The realization left me feeling the fool. The book had begun so well, logical and systematic. It had given me hope.

But the ‘Adjacent’? Other categories of magicians, ‘bound through wood and blood’? My Aeadine mind had no category to interpret those. The High Mariner, perhaps I could rationalize. Some captains did seem to have unnaturally strong relationships with their ghistings, and thus their ships. But to control a ship through will alone? If such a thing were possible, surely I would have heard of it before.

I closed the book and looked at the cover again, as if its simple embossing could explain the madness inside. Briefly I considered finding the Mereish trader again and asking for answers, but the book had already been his way of answering me.

“Mereish…”I muttered wearily. “You knew they had strange ideas.”

“I thought Mr. Keo was watch captain tonight.” Fisher sidled up, hands in her pockets and her collar popped. She was still healing, but she had already shed her sling. She wore boots that clicked as she walked and her hair was pulled up under her tricorn hat instead of in its usual, practical tuft. Shelooked…notgentler, but less official. More approachable. She still carried a cutlass and likely had more weapons hidden about her person, but I did not mind this alternate Fisher.

“He is.” I slipped the book into my pocket and scrutinized her, knowing I looked wan and shadow-eyed. “I am watching the city.”

“Can’t sleep again?” Her question was neutral, but we both knew what it meant.

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