Dreamers in the Deep

The worst part about wearing a whaler suit was how long you had to stay in it. You had to be prepared to sleep in it, for starters. There were roughly two liters of water you could drink via a straw poking out from the collar—a straw that would lodge itself in your nose if you slept the wrong way, causing you to inhale water and hack it out as you were rudely awoken by the sensation of drowning.

You were expected to piss in it, too. If you had to shit—don’t, just hold it. If you had a cock, there was a pocket you could piss into. As long as you stayed mostly upright, there was little to no mess, presumably. If you had a cunt, well, the pocket had an extension flap that you could try to tuck between your legs as you relieved yourself. But half a bladder of piss was running hot down Homura’s legs when she tried.

Fuck. This. Suit.

She gritted her teeth and imagined what she would do to the man who designed them.

Now her ass was itchy. She tried her hardest to push and pull at the seam of the trousers, but couldn’t get it deep enough to scratch the itch.

Fuck this suit!

She slammed an angry fist into the wall, making a loud thud—much quieter than the furious scream she held back for the sake of those sleeping. No-one seemed to notice as it sounded like all the other noises aboard the Vizoris.

Ah, what a princess you’ve become.

She chuckled under her breath and rested her head against the wall as she sat half-upright in her hammock. Compared to her pastoral life with Kingsley and Yui, this was certainly uncomfortable. Before then, she’d dealt with much worse.

She pushed the foul soup in her boots out of her mind. It was better to focus on the sound of the ocean lapping against the hull. The creaking of old wooden boards. The thuds of cargo bumping into walls and deckhands stomping around. The musty smell of hard work mixed with burning lamp oil. She could find comfort in these mundane things.

月

“That’s enough for today,” the rugged face sporting a dark beard smiled at the girl. Combing his dark brown hair with one hand, he narrowed his emerald eyes at the young blonde bastien and twirled his wooden practice sword effortlessly.

“No, I want to keep going!” the young girl pleaded, readying her own practice sword.

The man crouched before her, dexterously balancing on the tips of his toes while leveling his eyes with hers. “A good night’s sleep is part of your training.”

“I still… I’m so close to getting it!” she croaked out with frustrated tears.

The man gently placed his hands on her shoulders. “Your mind will train you as you sleep. That’s when the muscle memory forms.” He patted her gently between her cat ears. “I bet a silver drake you’ll get it before your tenth attempt tomorrow.”

Her eyes lit up, a mischievous smirk growing across her face. “So, if I just fumble a handful of times tomorrow, I’ll be able to buy a whole bunch of treats?”

He stood up and laughed. “No, I reckon you’re more interested in proving me right.” He dug his wooden sword into the dirt as he leaned on it. “But first. You need to put on that mask.”

“What?”

月

Homura swung in her hammock, palming against the wall for stability as the heavy call of a horn reverberated throughout the ship.

“Masks on now! Dreamer!” roared the distant voice of the first mate, each word uttered in a steady cadence.

A bell started clanging from up top, loud enough to rouse everyone on the ship. Other voices soon began to echo Serhan’s orders.

“Starboard now! We need catchpoles! Nets!” It was the captain.

Tangled in her hammock, Homura fumbled at her mask before she fixed it onto the front of her helm, tightening the clamps that would form an airtight seal between her and the outside air. The breathing was very uncomfortable, requiring her to suck hard through the mask’s mouthpiece to pull air through the filter.

Better not be broken.

She joined the dozens of fully-suited whalers running towards the deck. It was nighttime, with the moon on full display in a cloudless sky.

“Homura!” Siri’s voice reached her ears as the deck was rushed by more whalers. She awkwardly stumbled through the crowd to where she thought the inari’s voice came from. It was nigh impossible to tell people apart, save for their different sizes and some distinguishing shoulder patches that she couldn’t decipher.

“Siri!” she yelled, trying to find her friend among the chaos.

A gentle pair of hands drummed on her shoulders before turning her around. She faced another intimidating whaler, but recognized the auburn eyes behind the visor.

The inari placed her hands on the sides of Homura’s helm, checking the fastenings of her mask. “All good, lovely! Now, stay back. We’ve got a prize to catch!”

Siri turned to walk towards the whalers gathered along the starboard side when Homura grabbed her wrist. “Wait, what?” It clearly wasn’t whaling as the crew carried nets and catch poles instead of harpoons.

“You can stay on deck since we trust you, but let us handle this, love.” Her voice shifted from warm and reassuring to cool and focused. “All you need to do is stay back and don’t get in anyone’s way.”

She released her grip on Siri and nodded. As the inari joined the others, Homura noticed the whaler a head taller than any of the others. Definitely Brok.

A yellowish haze had started to fill the air. Despite the strong winds whipping across the deck, it did not diminish. They were in the thick of it.

Spores.

It was hard to see anything in the water from where she stood, but the whalers were clearly focused on something—something that was very close to the hull, forcing them to look over the bulwark.

Brok shoved his catchpole down over the edge, wiggling the handle in an attempt to snare his target. Another whaler did the same. A net was cast over the edge of the ship as more crew hung onto its tail end.

Homura inched closer to the edge to observe their work. More whalers with long hooked poles were leading the far end of the net under a shadowy object in the water. It seemed not much larger than a person.

A hand clapped down on her shoulder and gave a quick squeeze. “Believe it or not, this ain’t the first time we’ve wrangled ourselves a dreamer.” Captain Elliot’s whaler suit was no different than the others, save for a more elaborate helm that featured a crown-like top, its rim decorated with maritime symbols: an anchor, a pair of oars, harpoons, sails, and various hulls.

He motioned towards the black metal box on the deck that she and many others struggled to load back at Selkura’s port. “That’ll be the quarters for our guest. Gets ‘em through the Veil without ‘em burnin’ up.”

“The Golden Veil? Burning?”

“Aye,” the captain nodded his head. “Dreamers, they be true demons, do they not?”

“Surely this can’t be–”

“Legal? Usually it be ‘eresy, but this be an exception under the conventions. Got a contract signed by the grand cleric ‘erself.”

“What do the clerics want with dreamers?”

“My best guess? Try an’ get ‘umanity–err, people—pas’ the reef.”

Sail out too far in one direction from Sorcis or Tal-Qora and you will hit the barrier reef. No man, woman, nor child had ever ventured past the reef. As for what lay beyond? Demons and even deadlier creatures, if the stories were to be believed.

Homura had many more questions, but a heavy, wet thud caught her attention. The whalers had pulled their netted quarry onto the deck.

It was her first time seeing one. A live dreamer. At least it seemed alive with its heavy breathing—or snoring?

Is that how they got their name?

“Well go on, grab an eyeful!” the captain chuckled, nudging her in the direction of the creature. “They don’t do much more’n flop ‘round outta the water!”

She edged closer and crouched down to inspect the creature. It continued snoring like an old man, pulsing inwards and outwards at a steady rhythm.

It was surprisingly colorful. Speckled patterns across a rainbow of colors swirled messily across its lumpy body like a child’s finger painting. A yellow light glowed from within, flickering every so often.

She next examined its flesh. It reminded her of a mix of coral and some of the weird Tal-Qoran fungi that were unsafe to eat. Much of the dreamer’s body was covered by a honeycomb pattern of holes through which spores exited with each exhale. It had crooked fins protruding from random parts of its body along with several long, hose-like appendages that steadily expanded and contracted, independent of its breathing.

She didn’t mind fish or even shellfish, but tales of the deep ocean teemed with horrors that made her skin crawl. Now she was staring at one.

You’re fine and so is everyone else.

She stood up and backed away from the creature.

Brok gave her a nod. “All right, then. Time I toss it in the box.” He gestured at a pair of whalers. “You two, gimme a hand with the door and the net, yeah?”

The shorter of the pair assisted him in dragging the dreamer towards the metal safe, its weighty door held open by the taller one.

Homura noticed a trembling fin on the side—or top—or bottom—of the dreamer. It was hard to tell what was up versus down with it.

The fin suddenly stuck out, revealing a whole person’s leg: thigh, knee, shin, and one long slippery-looking foot that ended in the fin instead of toes. It appeared rotten with its grey-blue hue.

It twisted violently, like a startled insect, and bent itself in half—not along the knee. If there were bones in that leg they were shattered by the bend, but Homura didn’t hear the cracking of bone. The leg kicked out, its finned foot launching itself into Brok’s side. The force of the launch tore the leg clean off the dreamer, spraying the deck with sickly green blood while sending Brok careening into the central mast. There was a loud crash as his head hit the pole and smashed a metal lantern.

“The fuck?” he shouted.

The dreamer went limp. With a furious stride, Brok yanked its net, dragged it a few steps, then launched it into the back of the safebox’s interior. As the whaler manning the door closed the container, a steady hiss of air escaped the vanishing gap between door and doorframe. The airtight seal was secured with the twist of a wheel.

“Mask!” shouted Siri.

Homura noticed panic in her voice for the first time.

The captain strode in front of the other whalers who had started backing away from Brok and the safebox.

He stared down the moonkin, his voice dead serious. “You good, Brok? Talk to me, Brok!”

There was a long crack across the visor of his mask. The massive moonkin raised his finger to touch the visor but stopped short of contact.

“Cap’n, I think it’s just a scratch,” he responded, shrugging.

Siri ran up to Brok and inspected his mask. “Aye, looks fine, but let’s get some paste over it to be safe.”

The crew started to relax. The captain walked past Brok, giving him a clap on the upper arm before securing a personal lock on the safebox using a key hanging from a chain about his neck. One of the whalers picked up the dreamer’s severed leg and tossed it overboard.

“So,” began Homura as she approached the lovers, “what in the vileblood was that?”

Brok laughed. “Surprised me too, feisty bastard. Seems they’ve got a bit of everythin’ in ‘em, eh? Seen one with a pig snout before. They’re mostly coral, though.”

“I’ve never heard of dreamers having people parts on them, let alone animal parts.”

“It’s not common knowledge,” responded Siri, shaking her head. “Some folks in the Church and Hansa know, but not many more, I expect.”

The yellow haze only seemed to have thickened, causing Homura to look around warily. “Are we surrounded by dreamers?”

“Aye, we are. Don’t worry ‘bout ‘em, though. They just bump up against the sides a’ the ship at worst,” replied Brok as he massaged the back of his neck and stretched.

There was a light ping as something dropped to the deck. It looked like a thin strip of metal.

“Never seen them kick someone, though,” added Siri.

“Aye, bloody hard at that.” He let out a few coughs.

Homura knelt and picked up the metal strip. It was a sharp, black piece of metal with a slight red tip at its sharpest point.

Brok walked up to the mast and rested his forehead against it while letting out a few more coughs. “Bloody dreamer… Got me good in…”

As Siri approached him, he furiously smashed his mask into the wood. He did it again. And again. Each hit was hard, alerting most of the deck. A loud crack could be heard on the fourth hit.

“Brok!” Siri screamed, pulling back hard on his helm to stop it from taking another impact.

The moonkin was too strong and the next hit crushed Siri’s hand between mask and mast, causing her to reel back and collapse from the pain.

As Homura rushed to Siri’s side, the inari looked up at her, pleading through her mask, “It’s broken, I think, but I’m fine. Homura, please don’t let him die!”

“Hycal, now! Brok’s frenzied!” yelled Serhan.

The captain slipped a catchpole’s loop around Brok’s neck and tried to hold him steady. “Rip off the mask, ‘fore he bites ‘is tongue off!”

A pair of whalers added their strength to the captain’s catchpole. As the powerful moonkin struggled with it, Homura leapt onto his back and started pulling at the clamps sealing his helm. Just as she managed to pull the helm off, Brok raised an arm and brought it crashing down on the captain’s pole. There was a loud snap as it began to fracture.

Two more whalers tackled the frenzied man’s legs, bringing him to his knees. The combined effort, along with the weakening catchpole, kept him upright but immobile. Soon, another duo secured his arms.

Homura caught a glimpse of Brok’s face. His eyes were bloodshot and darting around wildly. Bloody foam dribbled from his trembling mouth.

Fuck, is he biting his tongue off?

Siri approached with a leather belt. She couldn’t do much with her injured hand, but Homura got the idea. She snatched the belt, looped it about Brok’s face and pulled it tight into his mouth. She felt him bite hard into the leather.

Success.

The captain ran up with a soaked rag and pressed it into the man’s face, covering his nose and mouth. “Go the fuck to sleep, Brok!”

The frenzied fellow slowly grew weaker until he finally fell unconscious. Homura released her hold of the belt and Brok’s neck as the whalers gently lowered him onto his back. Siri knelt on one side of him as another knelt on the opposite side with a white medical satchel.

The inari held up a broken piece of Brok’s mask close to his mouth. A thin layer of vapor formed on the glass, indicating he was still breathing, much to her relief.

“Hold his mouth open, Siri. I’ll check the tongue.” The other kneeling whaler was Serhan, who had pulled out a pair of brass tongs.

She tossed the glass fragment aside as she pried Brok’s mouth open with one hand. With his left hand holding Brok’s tongue in position with the tongs, Serhan pulled out a small silver canister with a nozzle. He squeezed the ends of the canister together, causing a brown spray to coat the tongue’s tip.

“H-how bad is it?” asked Siri.

“He’s going to lisp for a bit. Tongue’ll clot soon… Looks like he swallowed the bit-off piece.” He paused for a moment as he met Siri’s stare. “Piece was small. Full recovery.”

“Thank the goddess,” she croaked, her voice sniffling with tears and relief.

A Sophian?

There was a loud thud from the bow. A jagged piece of coral, long and pointed like a spear, had launched itself onto the deck near the head, shattering a lantern and splintering wood. The bow grew darker as the coral dragged backwards towards the bulwark.

Its barbs dug in, bringing it to a halt as something large pulled itself up out of the water onto the ship.

Homura felt her hair standing on end, even her tail puffed up inside her suit. “What is that?”

“I-I don’t know,” whispered Siri as she backed up behind Homura, cradling her injured hand.

The shrouded interloper had two heads swaying side-by-side atop two skinny necks. One of its long, crooked arms still grasped the jagged coral spear. There was a rapid clicking sound, almost like a tengu’s beak.

Another thud sounded, followed by the scraping of wood as the creature drew closer. It was impossible to tell if it had legs—let alone feet—in the murky fog. It stopped for a moment, then appeared to grow even wider as a multitude of wiggling appendages spread out sideways, the shifting amalgamation beginning to resemble wings.

“Beeline for the Veil. I want those sails down now!” yelled Captain Elliot. “Rest of you whalers, get that thing off my ship!”

The crew sprang back to life: some making for ropes and ratlines, others making for the bridge and hold to grab sharper, deadlier weapons.

“Get the guns!” shouted Serhan, pulling the unconscious Brok towards the safety of the mess with another’s help. “Crossbows! Spears! Harpoons!”

“Siri, you’re in no condition to fight. Stay with Brok!” Homura shouted, wrapping her right hand around the grip of the sheathed sword on her back. She didn’t have her gun, but she suspected the two shots wouldn’t make much of a difference.

A pair of whalers ran up beside her with long-reaching spears. One of them slammed the deck with the butt of his weapon, letting out a loud roar as if to startle the creature. Several gunshots went off as well. They weren’t aiming at the creature, intending to scare or confuse it instead.

Homura suddenly shoved the whaler to her left, surprising him as he fell onto his side. She managed to pull her arm back out of the way as a red coral blade viciously spun through the air where the man had once stood. A whaler further back was less lucky as it caught his arm, causing him to yelp as he spun around and hit the deck.

“Suit breach!” screamed an unfamiliar voice.

She turned her attention back to the creature, pulling her katana out of its sheathe and gripping the handle with both hands. She was severely handicapped—she had barely caught the gleam from the coral spear earlier. Her sight, balance, and hearing were all off thanks to the whaler gear.

Fuck this suit.

Several gunshots went off in near unison along with the quieter thwocks of crossbows. These ones were hitting the creature as it wriggled in pain—or anger—and let out a low-pitched groan.

There were several more glints of coral. One was headed right for Homura, but she pivoted and leaned just out of its path. It sailed past her as a long appendage followed behind it. She hacked down fiercely, severing the arm completely.

The monster let out another low groan and attempted to bludgeon Homura with the stump. She leapt back, dodging the careless swings as it splattered grey blood about the deck.

Hatred and… sadness?

Several unintelligible shouts sounded across the ship along with more warnings of suit breaches and pleas for hycal.

Making a series of rapid clicks, the creature barreled towards Homura. She almost lost her footing as the ship lurched forward, having caught the wind behind its fully opened sails.

Finally, the monster came into the light of the central deck: a four-legged creature with a grey chitinous body resembling the upper torso of a person. Its legs were short and as thick as tree trunks, contrasted by the dozens of long, thin tentacles that spewed forth a yellow haze of spores. The arms were the most disturbing: just like a person’s arms but with an extra elbow and a smooth, grey tone. The severed arm had retracted into the body, no longer bleeding save for the occasional bubble of grey from its stump. The two heads were now visible: one looked like a pulsating organ whereas the other resembled an oversized human head, its facial features replaced with a multitude of lidless eyes.

An arm reached out for Homura, causing her to swing her blade at its outstretched fingers. It recoiled as the sword severed the first finger, then swung two of its other arms together, attempting to crush her with a brutal clap.

She charged forward into an opening between its arms and shoved her blade’s tip into the hard shell of its body. The carapace resisted for a moment, but then gave way to her blade as she pushed into its soft innards, like a knife cutting through the outer shell of bread to greet the soft interior.

It groaned and clicked as she cut sideways, then attempted to crush her with a hug. She vaulted over one of the incoming arms and rolled to the side of the ship.

The creature switched its focus to a pair of whalers approaching it with spears. One of them thrust towards the horror’s belly, but the steel tip glanced off its body, causing him to stumble forward. The monster capitalized on the fumble and grabbed him with one of its hands. It then held the struggling whaler in front of its body like a shield.

“Hold your fire!” shouted the first mate as the gunners took aim.

More of the crew approached the beast with spears and harpoons. Two of them jabbed viciously at the creature, drawing blood from its arms and legs. In response, the monster started swinging its hostage wildly, clobbering its assailants with the helpless whaler.

Homura recognized the adjustments on the hostage’s helm: a fit for bastien ears. Ezi, perhaps. The whaler’s size seemed about right. She took off in a sprint towards the beast as it swung its captive towards her. She slid under the blow and twisted herself sideways, swinging her blade in a skyward arc. It cut through the arm, causing it to release its bastien shield. One of the whalers, emboldened by the rescue, dashed forward and launched a harpoon deep into the wound she had carved earlier.

In pain, the monster slammed all of its remaining arms downward. The end of the freshly-severed one smashed into Homura as she attempted to scramble to safety. She blacked out for a moment and realized she was no longer holding her sword.

Next, the creature whirled, sending anyone in its vicinity flying backwards. Homura crashed into the side of the black safebox. Another whaler was knocked over the edge but managed to grab a ratline, saving him from a plunge into the ocean.

“Fire!” screamed Serhan, commanding the gunners and crossbowmen to capitalize on the fresh opening.

The cacophony of gunfire and crossbows flooded the deck once more. Everyone sighted the glow of the Golden Veil in the distance. Perhaps the creature saw it too—or perhaps it was simply too injured—as it leapt overboard, tearing through a ratline before it crashed into the ocean and vanished.

Homura tried to get up, but felt a sharp pain in her side. She looked down and saw her katana sticking through the side of her suit. The pain grew worse as the realization set in.

It had made a large tear in her suit, but had only run through the outer edge of her flank, just above her hip bone. She carefully grasped the handle and the back of the blade, careful not to cut further into her own flesh. She slowly eased it out, the blade dripping with her blood as the cold sea breeze made its way through the opening in her coat. Breathing was much easier now.

She braced in fear for a moment, thinking of the spores, but realized the mist of yellow had long dissipated thanks to the strong wind and the creature’s absence.

It was over.

Looking down at her sword, Homura struggled to her feet. It was no longer dripping with blood, the blade renewed. She feebly raised it high enough to sheathe it, clutching her side with her free hand to staunch the bleeding. The shaking sword tip caught the inside of her sheathe as she relaxed and slid it in.

She pulled off her mask as she limped towards the bridge. Though she didn’t think anything vital was damaged, her increasing heart rate made her worry she might be losing too much blood.

“Homura!” Siri caught her as she fell forward. “Someone, I need some help over here!”

The bastien snapped back to reality as the helmetless beauty gently lowered her to the floor.

“Worse than I thought,” she whimpered, clutching her wound.

“You’ll be okay. We’ll get you stitched up, love!” Siri’s kind voice calmed her as she rested the back of her head in the inari’s lap, the beauty gently pulling off her helm.

“Brok, he’s okay?”

Siri nodded and smiled at her gratefully.

The ship effortlessly glided through the Golden Veil as the captain ordered the sails to half-mast. Siri placed her hand over Homura’s to help her stay the bleeding. They both watched the curtain of light pass around and through them while the crew up in the yards playfully snatched at the intangible golden threads. There was a sharp sizzle: the severed appendages of the fiend turning as black as the night sky before crumbling to ashes, all too quickly swept away by the wind.

月

Lionel’s kick burst the door open with a loud crack. Iskil was right—there was no denying the stench now. He covered his mouth and nose with a handkerchief to help him endure the smell of death and rot. The dungeon was darker than a moonless night as any sources of light had long expired.

Iskil’s beak clacked a few times, a sign of either amusement or extreme anger.

“What do you see?” Lionel asked the grey-feathered tengu as his emerald eyes adjusted to the darkness.

“Bodies, shackled. All, dead.” Iskil’s voice was deep and raspy.

“Vileblood.” He shook his head as he seized a torch on the wall and lit it.

The two mercenaries proceeded down the hall and observed the first few cells. The light illuminated the bodies: all withered from starvation and desiccated by dehydration. Many were infested with maggots, but Lionel could still see their beastkin ears, tails, and what remained of their manes.

“Rats, none. Surprised. Beastkin, women, all.”

The man clenched his teeth as he looked at the devices within the cells. They were used to hold people in compromised positions—or to simply break their bodies. Based on the clues in the manor, it had been over a month—more likely close to two—since the place had been abandoned.

“Did they…” Lionel swallowed the lump in his throat. “Did they just leave them locked up?”

The Shevayalthans had over a month to flee. It wasn’t like they abandoned the manor at the last minute. This was a deliberate choice.

“Lion, wait.” Iskil stopped him with a clawed hand. “Quiet, listen.”

He paused, hearing only the crackling of the torch and both Iskil and his own breathing. “I don’t—”

The tengu dashed off into the darkness.

“Oi, Iskil!” he yelled, following his partner.

“Lion, here!” The voice wasn’t too far away. “Survivor, help!”

He took off towards his friend’s voice and arrived at a final cell in the back of the dungeon. The stench of death clung lighter.

“Lock, cut.” The tengu tried to pull the cell open to no avail, his beak clacking rapidly.

Lionel approached the cell, illuminating its interior. His mouth trembled for a moment as he beheld the skeletal form shackled behind the bars, the size of a small child. It was a girl and she was breathing, albeit very faintly. He drew his katana from his hip and forced the tip through the iron lock. Something cracked, allowing Iskil to pull the cell open.

Handing the torch to his partner, he ran in and kneeled next to the girl, setting his blade on the damp floor. Water had been trickling in through some kind of drain or lightless window near the top of the child’s cell. There were crumbs of moss around her lips.

Is that how she survived this long?

He reached into his coat pocket, looking for the leftover piece of bread he had wrapped up for later.

As he pulled out the slice, Iskil grabbed his wrist. “Lion, no. Stomach, weak. Soup, safe. Yui, bring.”

He nodded and used his sword to cut through the child’s tethers. He carefully cradled the girl—she was so thin he was afraid she might break—and carried her out of the dungeon. She seemed to be completely unaware of what was happening, her eyes remaining shut as if she were asleep.

“Yui!” Lionel screamed as he entered the manor’s main hall. “I need your help! We need a broth or porridge!”

月

Homura woke up with a gasp, her side throbbing. Several lanterns swung from the walls of the medical cabin, forcing the shadows into an erratic dance. She heard the sound of rain drumming on the deck above.

Someone had pulled her out of her whaler suit, cleaned her up, and placed her in a surprisingly comfortable cot. A warm blanket was spread over her fully naked body—save for the bandages wrapped around her midsection.

To her left, a fast-asleep Siri snored from her chair, reflexively keeping herself upright among the turbulence. Her hand held fast to Brok’s, the moonkin also in a deep sleep. She spied her katana resting snugly in its sheath among other tools in a rack close to the door.

There were several others resting in the cabin. She noticed Ezi was flat on his back at the far side of the room, covered in multiple bandages and splints. She remembered what had happened to him. He appeared to be breathing steadily, though, and was attended by a young human lady.

Did everyone make it?

That would be a miracle—a welcome one.

She turned her thoughts to the dream. She had seen that same story before, but this was the clearest one by far. Everything was still vivid, even the scent of death and the touch of Iskil’s claws. Had Iskil always been there in that memory?

The tengu was her first target and the only one she had intelligence on: the Greywolfe Company’s magic archer. She couldn’t remember seeing the Whitebeak’s vicious arrows during that battle more than seven years ago. It was that bastard Riordan who shot and killed Richard, not Iskil. But why wasn’t Iskil on Lionel’s side when he was needed most? If he fled, he was no better than the traitors. Lionel might have lived…

She recited the names she swore to kill all those years ago.

Benedict Riordan. Lyra Trion. Iskil Whitebeak. Whisp Greywolfe. And that witch whore with the curled horns.

But for Iskil… She wasn’t so sure.