Chương 8: 7 The Security Council

I yawned again as I climbed Sanctum of the Seal's steps. I hadn't stayed up too late. Sure, I'd stumbled into my bunk at the academy less than two hours ago, but the sun still wasn't up, so it hardly counted as an all-nighter. My fingers tightened around a packet of paper, wrinkling the sheets in the middle—the brief that I hadn't spent nearly enough time drafting. I'd been tempted to buy a stamina potion, but all the apothecary and alchemist shops would have been closed. Instead, I settled for three cups of tea.

I rubbed my eyes. Puffy as they were, I would not make a good first impression. Not that anything would have been worse than the way I'd shown up at graduation, soaked and filthy. Regardless, fond memories battled the regret. A Coppersmeldt hearth, friends, food, music…

"Hey, Tony." I pulled up short as Naomi crossed the pillared antechamber.

"You're here?" I asked as I rubbed my eye with my knuckles.

"I was sure you'd sleep in. Why ask me to give the brief at all?" She snorted.

"As if. And you're not giving the brief, I am." She flashed a small stack of paper, flat and crease-free. I glanced at the honey stain smudged on one corner of my report.

"Are you kidding me?" I asked.

"What?" she shrugged.

"It was good practice. You can show me what you came up with, and I'll give you some pointers." I rolled my eyes.

"I graduated from the same briefing class you did. I know what I'm doing."

"Good," she said cheerily.

"Looking forward to it." I folded my pages and tucked them under my arm.

"Well then, now that you're done wasting my time, I guess I'll be going back to bed."

"Tony, you're still coming with me." Great, this was my future, stuck to the bossiest Feykin this side of Paradise.

"No," I said, irritated.

"I'm not going to sit in your shadow while you talk over me."

"Then contribute," she said, then quickly added, "just don't derail the meeting." I groaned.

"Why? You're just going to disagree with me."

"That's not true." I raised an unamused brow.

"That's not always true," she amended.

"We have literally never agreed on anything."

"Exactly," she said.

"We see things differently. That's why I want you. Opposing insights see situations from unique angles."

"How sage of you," I mumbled. The words would have sounded wise coming from an Aunt or Uncle. From a peer? I suppressed every instinct to call her princess and bow till my nose touched the floor. She waited, violet eyes fixed on me as she shifted her weight to one leg.

"Fine, let's go," I growled. Something about the attack kept tugging at me like a hook through the lip. I hadn't been able to articulate it in my drafts. I started toward the State Room, and she blocked my path.

"Whoa, you're not going to your first security brief looking like you just got ripped from the grave."

"Brief starts in ten minutes," I grumbled.

"I'm not taking a shower." She pressed a vial of blue, glittering liquid into my hand. I turned it over, squinting at the label.

"Potion of Wakefulness?"

"You look like a swamp hag." The elixir glinted as I turned it over. The polished brass wire housing that wove around the glass spoke of expensive quality. I popped the cork and tipped it back. Sharp citrus, so fresh I could barely taste the ectoplasm medium hit my tongue. I shivered as the cobwebs washed away, blasted apart by a sudden energy spike.

"Wow," I said, voice hoarse.

"Much better," Naomi said.

"Let's go." I hesitated but fell into step behind her as we strolled into the State Chamber. The moment my foot passed the threshold, my "open terminal" prompt flashed in the corner of my vision. I ignored it, feeling very mature for my restraint. With the data hovering openly, I'd be about as focused as a dog in a squirrel-infested park. The chairs that had lined the wings the day before now ringed the mosaic map of the World Archipelago in the chamber's center.

Nearly fifteen Cousins already waited at their spots, some representing their parties alone, others with two or three members. I caught sight of two other Cousins from our graduating class. Standing nearly a full head taller than me, with brown-green skin and fangs that bordered on being tusks, Diago Del-Torro waved to me. I tossed him a lazy two-fingered salute. He and I had been Lance's prodigies together; we shared the burden of less-than-ideal heritages. Orc pirate for him, my father for me.

We had hoped to be in the same party, but those assignments were made for balance. Apparently, a team with two swordsmen would leave vital gaps elsewhere. What had his class been? Deck Duelist? I resisted the impulse to open my terminal. Based on the way Diago's eyes flickered, I could tell he was reading my stats. Beside him stood Valdex Mistskipper, an Aero-Primord with ivory skin and blue hair—a psionic in their party.

Naomi seemed to know where to go, so I followed until she selected two seats on the left of the circle.

"Are these our spots?" I whispered, glancing nervously between some of the more experienced Cousins. Some in armor, others in robes, every uniform incorporated the Family's pinstriped suit elements. Uncle Kerelev stepped in from a side room and raised his voice.

"Room, atten-tion!" Those who sat bolted to their feet, and those still walking froze. My fists snapped to my sides, and my heels clicked together. Granduncle ambled in after him, coughing into his fist as he leaned on his cane. Uncle Bruk Titangavel came next. I craned my head, hoping to catch sight of Lance, but he didn't follow the others. Granduncle continued to hack, coughs sounding like tissue flayed over barbed steel. I cringed. Sounded painful. He recovered and waved a hand.

"As you were." The Cousins hurried to their places.

"Take your seats," Uncle Kerelev called, and I sat, glancing around like the youngest brother, finally invited to sit with the grown-ups.

"Ourabora, Security Council protocols," Bruk called, taking his spot at Granduncle's left side. The shutters jerked, then slowly lowered, the early morning light dimming from the Chamber. Notifications interposed themselves over my HUD. <<Aura cast: Dispel Illusion>> <<Aura cast: Anti-Scrying Bubble>> <<Aura cast: Blurred Lips>> <<Aura cast: Silent Sphere>> The shutters lurched shut, plunging the room into darkness. My breath caught.

The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Spotlights flashed to life over each seat. I threw a hand up, shielding my eyes from the sudden glare. The mosaic map underfoot pulsed with luminescence. Tiles began to flip, starting in the center, and rippling outward in a widening ring. As the map awoke, chips of clear tile detached from the floor, hovering above the facsimile in a scattered approximation of clouds.

Heim Rock and Floating Rock lifted free from the floor, hovering above the archipelago at their respective altitudes. Mountains stretched up, extruding along glowing terrain lines. Sunken Rock descended below a sheen of blue tiles. My breath caught at the sight of the World Archipelago, tile-rendered in three dimensions. The clouds drifted, and I realized we were watching what she was seeing. We were looking through her eyes. A few seats down, Diago gawked, reminding me to close my own mouth.

The other Cousins leaned in, studying the map of our little world with familiarity.

"First things first," Bruk said.

"Tethyra's migration pattern. Carlos." Tiles flipped, the map rippling until it rendered a new waterscape—a much closer depiction, where the edge of an island clipped the circle's border. A faint but immense shadow writhed beneath the water; three sleek spotter ships, built for speed, triangulated around the suboceanic entity. A Cousin, a rogue type by his cloak and daggers, rose.

"We continue to track Tethyra's motion," he said.

"She's moving predictably, following whale pods, snaking as she goes." My throat went dry as I watched the shadowed mass; an appendage writhed underwater.

"Right now, she's northeast of Terra Slab, and we're re-diverting all naval traffic out of her path as usual." Tethyra was our second titan—a female kraken. Like Jorg, she was best observed from a distance and avoided. One of the spotting cutters, a swift Falcon-class, angled away as Tethyra changed her bearing. Kraken spotting was a job best left for the brave or the foolish. Kerelev folded his arms.

"Good," he said.

"We'll keep on as we always have, at least until she moves into Bloodwake waters." Bruk's chair creaked as he shifted.

"Thank you, Carlos. Now, a report about the dock sabotage yesterday." His eyes turned to Naomi, but they narrowed and shifted to me for a moment. I wilted, my hands tightening on my knees. Naomi cleared her throat before rising. She didn't even glance at her papers.

"Granduncle, Cousins," she started, a stateswoman to the core.

"Yesterday at approximately fourteen hundred hours, Ripjaw raiders attacked the dock in Rafael's Cove, somehow bypassing security blockades and targeting a shipment of black powder." As bossy and annoying as she could be, I had to give it to her; she knew how to speak. Even rehearsing my version of the brief in the mirror, the fidgeting and filler words mixed my report into a hot mess of nervous garbage.

"They managed to dump the majority of the powder before my team and I intervened."

"Is that why you looked like brine at your graduation?" Bruk cut in, fluffing his beard as he shifted Justice, his hammer, on his lap. She cleared her throat softly.

"Yes, Uncle," she said, all dignity and accountability.

"That's also why we were so late." Granduncle shifted in his seat, stifling a cough before glancing up.

"Hold on, you mean to tell me you diverted a Ripjaw raid without being synced to Ourabora?" he asked.

"Yes, Granduncle," Naomi said, gaze sliding to me.

"We had to make a decision. We saw the cove in trouble, and we acted." Granduncle's head bobbed in approval.

"Exactly what we look for in our Cousins. Well done, Cousin Myrkrath." She straightened a little, nose tipping back.

"I looked into it. That powder wasn't shipped in conventional magazine crates. It was disguised as provisions barrels. I checked the manifests, but it was encoded, which means—" Kerelev cut in.

"It was one of ours, but it was secret." Naomi nodded.

"Usually, we move our powder under armed escort; we certainly don't leave it unattended on the docks. I checked the logs; someone diverted it."

"An insider?" Bruk leaned forward, meaty forearms resting on his knees.

"Who?"

"Couldn't say," Naomi said.

"I spoke to the customs agent who was working that day, and he showed signs of psychic tampering." I shifted abruptly, the thing that was rubbing me wrong clicking into place. My lips pressed tight as I restrained myself. This was Naomi's brief; I wasn't here to sideline it.

"You think the Ripjaws had agents hand-deliver munitions for easy sabotage?" Kerelev asked.

"Why?" Naomi's gaze shifted to her toes.

"I don't know, Uncle. Frankly, nothing makes sense."

"I think Cousin Tony has something to say," a Cousin said from across the room. I glanced up abruptly. I recognized him, Alonso, something or other—a human user with a few levels in Martial.

"Go on," he said, curly hair spilling over one of his eyes.

"You look like you're going to pull a muscle if you keep it in." How had he known? I shook my head; it didn't matter. As a primary User class, his terminal was probably crowded with all sorts of insightful inputs.

"It's just a theory," I said, instantly collapsing in on myself.

"I should probably look into it first."

"Why not air it now?" Kerelev asked.

"Maybe we could help you gather your thoughts."

"It's just—" I took a deep breath, composing myself under all of those stares.

"I don't think they're Ripjaw." Naomi shot me a quizzical frown.

"They had Ripjaw Warpaint, yes," I said, "but the paint was red. Like, visibly crimson. Usually, the ichor they use is more brownish. Like someone was trying to copy them but didn't have the right recipe."

"So they changed the color of their makeup," Naomi chuckled apologetically.

"That's hardly irregular."

"Also, the mutations," I said hurriedly.

"Those Deep Ones were big, too big." I rubbed my throat where the bruises marked my skin.

"Some had lobster claws, tentacles, fish tails. All very unusual." Naomi took a breath to contradict me, then she hesitated, considering.

"And a psionic?" I finished, voice growing more certain.

"Aren't psionic Ripjaws extremely rare?"

"It's uncommon," Granduncle agreed.

"But not impossible."

"I know the Ripjaws are the biggest Deep Folk tribe in this area, but they're not the only ones. I think," I nodded to myself.

"I think they were someone else altogether, or the Bloodwake is supporting them." Kerelev glanced back at Granduncle, who nodded slowly.

"I think we ought to study those bodies," he said.

"Maybe we can find greater evidence to support your claim."

"Why would another tribe fight its way through Ripjaw Territory just to dump some of our powder?" Diago asked.

"What's more, why go through all the effort to make it look like a Ripjaw attack?"

"I don't know," I confessed.

"All I know is either those weren't Ripjaws, or the Ripjaws are changing."

"We'll supplement the Coast Guard with the Chain Tide and Iron Wave fleets," Bruk decided.

"Won't do much good if the Deep Folk simply swim under our ships," Kerelev said.

"We need to request Submariners from Submerged Rock."

"I agree," Granduncle said.

"But we can't allow these raids to distract us from our primary priority." The hall plunged into silence as every head turned to Granduncle.

"Where is Puppetmaster?" he asked.

"We need Prisoner's Retaliation." Having already spoken once without being ridiculed, I didn't feel like an idiot asking.

"Excuse me," my hand went up.

"What's Prisoner's Retaliation?" I hadn't sensed the tension in the air before, but when every eye turned to me, it punched like a wave. My hand drifted down.

"Prisoner's Retaliation is a legendary artifact," Granduncle said, his voice low.

"Puppetmaster carries it. The details are confidential—even to the Security Council. But that timer in your family quest—we must find it before the clock runs out."

"So we are hunting the Puppetmaster?" I asked, skin tingling. I leaned as far forward as my chair would allow." You are not hunting Puppetmaster," Bruk cut in.

"Senior Cousins are trying to locate him. Uncles and Aunts are going to take care of him."

"I can help—" Naomi's hand found my knee, and she shook her head. Right, not the time or the place.

"Maybe we can dismiss our junior Cousins while we go over the particulars," Bruk suggested, glaring directly at me. Granduncle nodded.

"Yes. Yes, I think that'd be best." What? I almost protested, interrupting to ask why we were being cut out, but that was probably exactly the type of behavior they were trying to avoid. Diago and Valdex stood; Naomi and I followed. <<System Notice: You have been released from the meeting>> As soon as the notification flashed in my vision, the room plunged into silence, and everyone's mouths blurred, obscuring their lips. I scratched my cheek; the rash was flaking and itchy.

Why did I feel like a child being sent to his room? Diago cast me a wide-eyed glance as the four of us exited. Out in the hall, my fists tightened.

"Black waves, what was that?" I demanded as I spun toward the doors.

"I thought we were cleared to know what's going on—" I froze, wide-eyed and horrified. I had expected to be shouting at closed doors, but Uncle Kerelev stood before them, arms folded.

"Believe it or not," he started, voice dry and unamused.

"We sequester information based on what quests you are executing. You're not on the Puppetmaster quest, you don't have a need to know." I choked on my words, so Naomi cut in.

"Forgive his rudeness; he's an idiot." Kerelev placed a hand on my shoulder, and I almost flinched away. A lock of his wavy black hair divided an eye on his lean face.

"Listen. Things are tense now. We're navigating a potential war with the Bloodwake, the sky is cracking, and we're spread too thin to address all these problems at once."

"So let us in," Diago drawled through his tusks as he folded his arms over his chest.

"Let us help."

"Oh, you're going to help, all right," Kerelev said, releasing my shoulder.

"Look, you're going to get quests. A lot of quests. Don't expect any rest anytime soon. We need hands on deck for the Puppetmaster situation; so you're each going to pick up the slack of three teams." That—actually made me feel better. I didn't need to be doing the biggest, most dangerous thing; I just couldn't tolerate just sitting around.

"Usually, we give our new parties easy quests, monitoring them as they level up and helping them with operational tools. You don't get that luxury; no probation. You're doing the busy work for the entire corps."

"You have quests for us?" I asked eagerly. Kerelev smirked.

"Oh, yeah." Diago flinched at a notification invisible to my eyes.

"Escort duty?" he asked, reading the air.

"For a Floating Rock diplomat," Kerelev said.

"Three attempts on his life this week alone. Can you get him to Paradise Rock in one piece?" The orc grinned and nodded. Kerelev shifted to us. <<New Quest: Orange Steel: A Primord black marketer has arranged for a load of orange steel to disappear from the Ash Lords' manifests. Purchase the contraband and retrieve it from Scorched Rock. >>"Scorched Rock?" Naomi gasped.

"That's a Bloodwake Island."

"That's right," Kerelev said, nodding.

"Does this mean that this is a—" she cut off short.

"A smuggling operation," I breathed, giddy with delight.

"That's right," Kerelev said.

"No kid gloves for you. You think you can handle it?"

"Oh, don't you worry," I said, a grin stealing across my face.

"You came to the right team for this." <<System Notice: Time to Seal Collapse: 04: 03: 02: 19: 40: 15>>