The Winds of Khalakovo - Bradley P. Beaulieu [180]
“Tell me! What has this Motherless wretch done?”
Nasim had done something similar to Nikandr’s mother when she’d attempted to assume him, and he wondered whether Alesya had just attempted the same thing. He debated on whether or not to tell Grigory, but before he could say anything, Grigory stepped over to Ervan and pulled him by the arm to the gunwale.
When he stepped back and pointed the pistol at Ervan’s chest, Nikandr raised his hands in submission and said, “Nyet, Grigory! All right! My mother suffered something similar when I left Radiskoye!”
“What had the boy done?”
Nikandr tried to convey his confusion as best he could, if only to get Grigory to lower the weapon.“She had been studying him”—Nikandr could not, with the Aramahn close by, admit that his mother had tried to assume the boy—“and Nasim found her. He fought her and struck her dumb just before Borund took me away.”
The rook continued to flap and caw and scratch its stump of a leg against the deck.
“How?” Grigory’s voice was practically hysterical. “How can he do this? The Landless do not ride the aether.”
“I don’t know.”
Grigory’s face hardened. “You do know!” He shook the pistol at Ervan’s chest. “Now tell me!”
Nikandr tried to find an explanation that would appease him, but the truth was he didn’t know the nature of the bond himself. Had he been able to speak with his mother or Atiana or even Victania he might have been able to understand it more fully, but other than the dream he had had on the Gorovna, he had not given it much thought. He hadn’t had the time.
In his loss for words he could see the decision in Grigory as he turned his gaze upon Ervan.
The muscles along his forearm tightened.
“Nyet!” Nikandr screamed.
The gun roared.
Grigory’s wrist recoiled.
A burst of red appeared at the center of Ervan’s chest and he fell backward over the gunwale, his eyes wide with shock.
The smell of gunpowder laced the air, and then was gone like so much dust upon the wind.
The following moments passed with the sounds of cawing and the wind whipping over the ship. Nikandr stared into Grigory’s eyes and found smugness there, as if to say Nikandr had been asking for this ever since Stasa Bolgravya had been murdered.
But then something caught Nikandr’s attention, and it drew him back from the urge to rush Grigory if only to strike him once before being shot. Above Grigory’s shoulders, slipping from one bright cloud to another, was a ship. It was far off, but it was using the clouds to hide its approach. He refused to look at it directly, not wanting to draw attention, but he dearly hoped it was a ship allied to his father’s cause. And so, in an instant, he made a decision. He had to delay. He had to give the ship time so that he and the rest of the crew might still be saved.
Grigory, perhaps nervous now that he had no weapon with which to defend himself, held out his hand and received from a nearby strelet a loaded pistol to replace the one he’d just fired. As soon as he had the weapon in hand he stared down at the deck. The old rook was no longer cawing, nor was it moving.
Grigory’s face went white as he stared at the bird.
“The same happened to Higald, my mother’s strongest and most prized rook,” Nikandr lied. “No doubt the bond was severed when the rook died.”
“You lie,” Grigory said, his red face examining Nikandr’s for any reason to raise the weapon and fire it on either him or Nasim.
Nikandr went on, “I would not lie about a thing such as this. The Matri are above all.” The sentiment for the Matri was generally the same all over the islands, but he chose the phrasing that ruled in the south, hoping the note of familiarity would draw Grigory down from his perch.
“How do you know she recovered?”
“She found me, on the way to Ghayavand, and we spoke for a short time.”
As if just remembering his own soulstone, Grigory pulled it out from his shirt and held it in his hand.
“I cannot feel her.”
“It was the same with me.” This was true, but it had been because the power in his soulstone had been all but extinguished