The fat King Hectore of Infinzel plodded across the map of the island, pausing every few steps to glance up at his brother. Cizco Firstson-Salvado sat with the rest of the pyramidal city’s champions. He nodded subtly when the king reached a spot on the island’s southern half, a valley where the mountains would be at their backs and no hostile camps would be positioned too close.

  “Here,” King Hectore said. “I choose here.”

  King Mudt hooted. “He chooses!” The Orvesian turned around to search for Cizco amongst the champions. “The island is not big enough to hide from me, mage! A week is not long enough to build a wall!”

  Cizco regarded King Mudt coolly but his brother, the Quill, who would not be doing any of the actual fighting, shuddered and grimaced.

  “Your wish, Infinzel?” the gods asked.

  And here, we arrive at a matter of some historical dispute.

  It was long believed that Cizco Firstson-Salvado dictated what his older brother would wish for. In the years following the First Granting, as he claimed the throne of Infinzel for his own, Cizco would let these rumors circulate. They served his growing reputation.

  However, letters recovered from the Penchenne Diplomatic Archive indicate that the brothers had discussed other plans for their first wish. Not wanting to arouse the ire of other factions, Cizco had privately advocated for a peaceful wish, one that would benefit Infinzel and do no harm to their enemies. He pushed his brother the king to wish for stone that would be more susceptible to ward-work. This would be in keeping with King Cizco’s wish at the Second Granting, when he successfully blessed the stones of Infinzel.

  Thus, in that first year, we are left to conclude that King Hectore made a unilateral decision in discarding his brother’s advice.

  What possessed King Hectore? Years of siege, certainly. Or, perhaps, it was the blustering presence of King Mudt himself, who had attempted to stab Hectore to death when the gods first summoned the Quills and who had now wished for the collapse of Infinzel. We are reminded, as well, of Hectore’s marital difficulties, his morbid humors, and his loosening grip on reality. Are these factors in their totality enough to turn a sniveling coward into a mass murderer?

  Perhaps such explanations are unnecessary. Perhaps atrocity becomes simple when the gods are one’s instrument.

  “Annihilation,” King Hectore declared, staring down at his feet. “I wish for Orvesis to be annihilated.”

  King Mudt chuckled. “What did he say? What is this word?”

  “Every blackbird and all their nests, everything they touch,” King Hectore continued. “I wish to see it all annihilated.”

  The amphitheater stilled. Even after decades of war, none of the other Quills had thought to make a wish so uncompromising.

  “Let the Granting begin,” intoned the gods.

  --Record of the First Granting and Dawning of the Second Age

  Lyus Crodd, Scribe of the Dead Kingdom of Orvesis

  Uicha de Orak, Wildcard of the 5th Renown, representing The Forgotten One, just wants to fit in

  Akoni de Emasyn, Captain of the Dartmyth, time to set sail

  12 Rainest, 61 AW

  Flamboyance, largest of the Flamingo Islands

  78 days until the next Granting

  “Are you the kid with blood for Ink?”

  The two islanders had waited for Akoni to visit the bar before they approached. At a glance, Uicha could tell they were sailors. Leanly muscled, grizzled, with red-rimmed eyes, they were likely burning through whatever pay they'd earned during their last voyage while waiting for the next boat to hire-on. Uicha had seen a lot of their type since he arrived in Flamboyance. These two were small-timers. Thanks to Akoni’s tutelage, Uicha now had an idea of what to look for if he ever needed to hire a crew of his own. The sailors were both in their thirties and bedecked in jewelry that was mostly paste—cheap fakes meant to enhance their reputations. Both were drunk, although the one who'd asked the question seemed sharper-eyed than his swaying friend a half-step behind him.

  Uicha looked right at them. Gods, half a year ago, he would've run from a confrontation like this.

  “I don't know who you're talking about,” Uicha said. “Go bother someone else.”

  The lead man snorted. “Where you get that accent from? You ain’t an islander, boy, talking like that.”

  Uicha turned slightly in his chair to gaze over the balcony. It was the rainy season in the islands and a lazy drizzle sprinkled down from the overhang. The bar was on the second floor of the building and overlooked the harbor where ships were still arriving and departing even at sunset. There were all sorts of islander vessels docked there, though the Dartmyth was the only blessed ship currently in Flamboyance, and thus granted a private berth and extra attention from the port’s staff.

  In the last week, Uicha had watched ships come in from all over. There were deals to be made in Flamboyance. Islanders came here to fence the spoils of their piracy, but also to trade legitimate goods grown throughout the archipelago. And there weren't any shortage of foreigners, either, particularly those whose reputations kept them from doing business in their homelands. Uicha had been surprised by how many of the Bay’s merchants he’d seen on the streets, at least until Akoni explained how the fourteen families monopolized trade and squeezed out the little guy. There were banks and brokerages on every corner—hell, there was a vault on the ground floor of this very bar, the owner just now locking up for the evening. Foreigners kept their money in the islands when they wanted to keep it hidden.

  The sailor snapped his fingers in Uicha’s face. “Hey, you,” he said. “We still talking.”

  “We aren’t, though,” replied Uicha.

  “They said the boy with blood Ink look like us, but he come from someplace else.” The sailor snapped his fingers again. “That sound like you, don’t it?”

  Uicha turned away from the view. “Who said that?”

  “Who said?” The sailor squinted his eyes, then turned to his friend. “Who did say, huh?”

  The other man shook his head, and looked like he might vomit from the effort.

  “People be talking,” the first sailor concluded. “They say this creepy boy put the hurt on a merchant champion—pow—slap that bitch halfway across the ocean.”

  Uicha tried not to smile. “Well, it wasn’t me.”

  “Prove it.” The sailor pointed at Uicha’s neck. “Show us your mark.”

  Despite the humidity, Uicha kept his short-sleeved shirt fully buttoned. He hadn’t gone back to wearing bandages, though. Instead, Akoni had outfitted him with a choker of beads and feathers that dripped past his collar. The captain claimed the jewelry was in style and Uicha had seen a few other young people wearing similar ornaments, but they were mostly nesters—the skinny, smooth-handed bureaucrats that kept Flamboyance’s network of businesses and bribery afloat. Non-sailors. Even after months on the Dartmyth, Uicha had to admit that he looked the part.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Uicha leaned forward, his elbows on the table. “If I am who you think I am, does it really seem wise to come over here and get into my business?”

  The sailor screwed up his face like he was trying to do some complex equation in his head. His friend—more bored than intimidated, Uicha thought—tried to tug the other man toward the door.

  “No, no,” the sailor said. “I’ll make you show me some of that magic.”

  The movement probably felt elegant in the drunkard’s mind. He reached into his pocket, pulled a folding knife which he snapped open, and tossed the blade at Uicha. In all likelihood, the handle would’ve bounced harmlessly off Uicha’s shoulder. Even so, Uicha didn’t hesitate to use his [Telekinesis]. He stopped the wobbly throw just enough so that he could pluck the knife out of the air, close it, and slide it back across the table.

  “You dropped that,” Uicha said.

  The sailor made a noise somewhere between a grunt and a squeal. It had all happened so fast—what Uicha had done could’ve been a case of quick reflexes. Confusion in his bleary eyes, the sailor reached down to grab his knife, but Akoni’s hand slapped down on it first.

  “That’s mine now, brother,” the captain said, his eyes glinting. “Your boatswain been blowing his horn. It’s past time to set sail, yet you ignore the call. Should I discipline you on his behalf?”

  The two sailors recognized Akoni—if not specifically, by his angular beard and tidal wave of hair—then by the quality of his tailoring and the sparkle of his jewels. Everyone in the islands knew the look of a true captain. Akoni drummed his fingers lightly on the hilt of his scimitar as the two sailors backed away.

  “No disrespect,” mumbled the one who hadn’t spoken at all.

  As the two sailors slunk out the exit, Uicha looked around. While the drunks were the only ones bold enough to approach him, the rest of the tavern’s patrons were all paying attention. His shoulders tightened at all the eyes upon him.

  “Come on,” Akoni said to him, a bit of impatience in the captain’s voice.

  “I thought we were getting dinner.”

  “Somewhere else,” Akoni replied.

  Moments later, they were out on the dirt streets of Flamboyance. The city swelled at this time of evening as sailors sauntered in from the water. Restaurants and taverns threw their doors open, their musicians competing to set the rhythm, dancing girls swaying in the windows. Akoni set a brisk pace away from the tavern—he had picked the place, calling it one of his favorites. Instead, now, he sidled up to a street vendor, dictating a kebob order while Uicha stood nearby feeling like he’d done something wrong.

  “I have seen your cock,” Kayenna Vezz said. “It is not that big.”

  Uicha had largely stopped reacting when the Orvesian spirit inhabiting his body decided to manifest, though he flinched this time on account of her intimate observation. The dark-haired woman stood next to him, the circular scar around her neck like a choker of shadow.

  “Excuse me?” Uicha hissed.

  “You have the swagger of one of Mudt’s warriors,” Kayenna said. “This is unwise.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” Uicha murmured. “Those guys came up to me.”

  “You waste our time indulging in these fantasies,” Kayenna continued. She flicked her fingers in Akoni’s direction. “You are not a sailor. You are not his little brother. This man cannot help us anymore. Not where we’re going.”

  “He’s the only one who’s helped me so fa—” Uicha snarled the words into his shoulder like a cough. But, as was her way once she’d made herself understood, Kayenna was gone, and Akoni returned with charred meat and grilled fruit on a stick.

  “Rain let up,” Akoni said. “Let’s walk.”

  The two of them wended their way through the energized streets, pulling apart their meals as they went. Uicha didn’t think Akoni had any destination in mind, but it seemed like they were heading back to the harbor and the safety of the Dartmyth. They had been in Flamboyance for more than a week now and while Akoni had taken Uicha on a few excursions into the city, mostly they had stayed aboard the ship, continuing Uicha’s education on the sailing skills that Akoni insisted every islander should know. Uicha had been content to let the days tick by.

  “People are talking about me,” Uicha said.

  Akoni used his little finger to pick a bit of meat out of his teeth. “I know, little brother. Rumors get around this place. They come to ask me, too.”

  Uicha felt a certain pride in this, a warmth spreading through him. He was doing as the Forgotten One had demanded. He still had a blot of unused chanic throbbing on his chest, like an organ his body couldn’t yet make use of. But, did he want to do the bidding of that terrifying entity? Uicha felt the sudden urge to dart into the shadows of an overhang, to be unseen. He touched the beads on his neck to make sure they still covered him.

  “I haven't seen much of the others since we've been in port,” Uicha said. “Chamberly, Sheppa…”

  Neither the navigator nor the medic had returned to the Dartmyth since they arrived in Flamboyance. This hadn’t struck Uicha as odd until now. The stories about him had to come from somewhere, though.

  “They got duties. Families to see.” These excuses sounded flat coming from the captain. He sighed and tossed away his skewer. “Truth is, you spooked them a little bit.”

  Uicha blinked. “They're afraid of me?”

  Akoni shrugged. “They didn't say it in so many words, but a captain knows his crew.”

  “But we—you told them my story,” Uicha said. He'd first spun up a version of what had happened with him and Ahmed Roh for Captain Akoni, then let the captain embellish it for the rest of the crew. He remembered that some of them had tears in their eyes when Akoni's retelling had finished.

  “And they sympathetic to that. An island boy tortured and experimented on by some bastard archmage? That is one thing, little brother.” Akoni sucked his teeth. “It's another to see what you can do. How you handled them champions and the octopus…”

  “It's not like they haven't seen champions before,” Uicha replied. “Curse was there. And you're in line to take the Ink, aren't you?”

  “One day, maybe,” Akoni said, waving this possibility off. “They seen how the Ink turned to dirt on your skin. They seen how Curse looked at you like you were his better. They think maybe you a dangerous thing to have around.”

  Uicha stopped walking. Of course, he knew that he couldn't stay with the Dartmyth forever, but it had been the first place he'd felt welcome and safe since leaving Ambergran.

  “Are you scared of me?” he asked Akoni.

  The captain stopped walking too, raised an eyebrow, and reached into his pocket for his pipe. “Shoot. What reason I got to be scared of you?”

  “No reason,” Uicha said.

  “Exactly.”

  The captain lit his pipe. Nearby, a fast-paced drumbeat pulsed from a tavern, the dancers in the windows casting flickering shadows across Akoni.

  “I kept your secrets and didn’t ask questions, like I said when we met back in Noyega,” Akoni continued. He pointed the stem of his pipe back the way they had come. “But, you know that’s going to keep happening, right? You a prize, little brother. People going to keep trying to pry you open. That’s big trouble for a little ship.”

  Uicha’s mouth went dry and he dropped his half-finished kebab into a puddle. Gods, he was a fool. Akoni taking him out to a restaurant for a special dinner—how had he not seen the finality in that gesture?

  “You’re cutting me loose,” Uicha said.

  Akoni exhaled a cloud of smoke and walked closer. “Don’t make it sound worse than it is, Uicha. The Dartmyth needs to get back on the sea. We got to earn. I already spent longer docked than I planned and my crew getting restless. I got you where you wanted to go, didn’t I?”

  “Any port in a storm,” muttered Uicha. “What happened to that?”

  “I think it’s all storms for you,” Akoni said, putting a hand on Uicha’s shoulder. He wanted to shrug it off, but that would’ve made him look too sullen. “You got to stay ahead of them. Stay ahead of your own story. Better for you. Better for me, too, but better for you, especially, if I can say—nah, I don’t know where that boy went.”

  Uicha nodded, trying to keep his face a blank. “When?”

  “I told the others we’d push off tomorrow,” Akoni said. “Listen, I bribed a friend at the Admiralty…”

  They had passed by the statehouse of the Flamingo Islands—one of the only buildings in Flamboyance made of stone—on one of their walks. The place had been busy with sailors queuing up for work and merchants looking to pay or extract bribes from the powerful nesters within. Akoni had told Uicha they would stop by again when it wasn’t so packed, but then had apparently gone back without him.

  “Bric de Orak, that’s your grandfather, right?” Uicha nodded, and Akoni produced a small bundle of documents from within his shirt. “He’s retired down on Sugarfoot. I set you up with a ticket for the ferry.”

  Uicha thumbed through the papers. There was a map of the archipelago marked up with his grandfather’s location, a ticket for the cross-island ferry, and a list of the ships his grandfather had worked on. Bric had gotten multiple commendations from his captains, though he hadn’t taken a job in almost ten years.

  “I wasn’t the first one to come asking about Bric,” Akoni continued, his expression turning grave. “My friend said there was a man with the Noyegan dice a few weeks back. And then, just a couple days ago, someone else pulled his records, but my man couldn’t remember who. He’s got a head for faces and numbers, my friend does, so him going fuzzy… that’s unusual.”

  Someone from Noyega sniffing around after his grandfather and then a second party that sounded like they’d used magic to conceal their identity. Uicha rubbed the back of his neck. He didn’t like the sound of that.

  “Is he in danger?” Uicha asked.

  “With you coming to visit?” Akoni grinned. “I’d say it’s those others who are in danger.” He grabbed Uicha around the shoulders and dragged him down the street. “Come on. I’d wanted to get drunk before this conversation, and now that it’s done, I still do. You will still drink with me, won’t you, little brother? It will only make me sadder if you’re sore with me. I promise, the tides, they will reunite us one day…”

  Uicha had tried to match Akoni drink-for-drink and, as usual, not quite been up the challenge. He still felt dizzy when he returned to his cabin aboard the Dartmyth. Dizzy and wounded. Akoni was putting him into a dinghy and shoving him out to sea. At least the rum made the sting of this abandonment easier to accept. The captain had laid out plans for him, done everything in his power to help—but still, Uicha could not shake the feeling that the rest of the crew viewed him like a dangerous freak. And now, he would be alone again.

  Well, he had Kayenna. In a way, Uicha could never be alone anymore. Of course, the witch did not appear to console him. That wasn’t in her nature.

  It was after midnight when Uicha found himself stumbling around his cabin, packing his few things into his backpack. Pausing to drunkenly consider his situation, he then hastily unpacked them, rooting around in his pack until he found the vials he’d stashed in the bottom.

  Chanic.

  He had three tubes of the stuff, taken from Ahmed Roh’s supply before fleeing the archmage’s boat. He had been ignoring the vials, not eager for another visit with the Forgotten One. But now, Uicha had unfinished crimson pooled on his chest, and if he was going to be on his own, he would need more power to protect himself. He wondered how much he would need to use to gain another level of renown.

  There was only one way to find out.

  Uicha uncorked one of the vials and had himself a nightcap.