The Wandering Isles

  Contents

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Epilogue

  Thank You

  Copyright © 2020 by C. L. Schneider

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  IBSN: 9798651388486

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2020910629

  Independently Published

  Highland, NY

  Formatted by: Michelle A. Bailey’s Author Services

  To all the fans who bugged me for more: thank you.

  We’re all back in Ian’s world, because of you.

  Acknowledgments

  There are so many people who touch my work in meaningful ways. I hope you know who you are, and how much I appreciate you, even if you don’t find your name here.

  I’m grateful to my husband for being by my side on this roller coaster. To my sons, each with their own creative talents: thank you for letting me bounce things off your amazing brains. To Editor Extraordinaire, Sara, of The Right Words Editing. I would be completely lost without you! Thanks to my family, my super-supportive SFAM, my beautiful roadie, and all of my amazing friends who care enough to drag me out of my cave: I love you all.

  Special thanks to Eerilyfair Design for my exceptional cover. I couldn’t love it more. I’m excited to see what the next book brings! If you would like to check out more work by Eerilyfair, please visit: https://www.eerilyfairbookcovers.com/

  C. L. Schneider

  Chapter One

  I should have run for cover when the sudden deluge woke me, beating on my face with a sting of skin and a mouthful of water. But I’d gotten used to the night sky splitting open and spewing its contents without warning. The sea knew nothing of gentle this far out, and I’d accepted her quick temper many moons ago.

  Yet neither my ability to adapt, nor my tolerance for discomfort, were why my feet were riveted to the deck. I was standing, drenched and wind-battered, with the rain falling in sheets on my head—because it was falling red. Furious, pounding drops, dark—like day-old blood—streaked the sails. They pooled on the boards, slicking the deck and staining my white hair. The taste of it on my lips was…

  Not blood, I thought, relieved. And not water. There was a mild, unnatural sweetness to the liquid, but I couldn’t place it. The fog was the wrong color, too, though it was streaked with more of a rusty hue than a true red. Blowing in with no warning, the bloated bank grew in seconds to surround the ship, completely obscuring what lay beyond the rail.

  Swelling billows glided across the deck. Slender tendrils stretched out and drifted over me, full of moisture and cold and… Shapes, I thought. Voices.

  There must be another ship nearby.

  Had we come upon land already?

  It’s not possible. I couldn’t have slept more than an hour.

  I glanced at the empty bottles rolling at my feet. Maybe two…

  An uncomfortable thought hit me. “The anchor…”

  Boots slipping, splashing red liquid as high as my knees as I ran, I kept my eyes on the strange outlines and silhouettes in the fog. Their vague forms followed me. Harsh, indistinguishable voices circled around, blowing wordless whispers like ice on my skin.

  Ignoring the sensation, I struggled not to bat at things reason told me weren’t there. I yelled at them instead. “Whoever you are, get the hell off my ship!” I gripped the heavy braided rope dangling over the side. It responded with one, swift tug. Too fast.

  Feeling far less resistance than I should, I wasn’t surprised when the end cleared the water, slipped effortlessly up over the rail and onto the deck: frayed and empty. The anchor was gone. “Of course,” I muttered, wiping my eyes to peer out. Straining, I tried to detect some trace of land or another ship, even a glimpse of the water, anything to tell me where we were.

  It was pointless. The fog was like porridge. I could barely see the rail, let alone past it. Where the hell did we drift to?

  A scream pierced the cloud. Within its fading echo, I heard the impossible.

  Turning, trying to place its origin, I shook my head. “No. It can’t be.”

  The sound came again, high and drawn out. It faded like the protracted creak of a rusty hinge with an unmistakable, “Trooooyyyyyyyyyy…”

  How? I was far from my homeland. No one out here knew the name of Ian Troy. The hope of anonymity was one of the many reasons I left.

  A third scream, this one a violent release of excitement and rage, pulsed like a stampede in my head. I covered my ears, fighting to block the sound and the rapid vibrations it produced. Both banged against the sides of my head, with my name on their heels.

  My attempt at relief was ineffective. My skin and bones posed no barrier.

  A new wave of agonizing pressure penetrated my hands. I stumbled, tripped over the coiled rope at my feet, and caught the mast. Leaning against it, streams of red trickled over my wrists. Already soaked in the color, I couldn’t tell if it was rain or blood draining from my ears.

  Simultaneously, the sound and the pain vanished. The voices stilled. There was only my own anguished breathing, loud and ragged in the abrupt quiet, and the repetitive ‘plink, plink, plink’ of rain hitting the deck.

  Whoever was after my attention, they had it.

  Panting and pissed off, I pushed away from the mast. Instinct brought a swift hand to my hip, but it was in the same shape as the rope. “Empty. Son of a bitch.”

  My sword belt was in the hold.

  If not for the certainty of danger sitting cold on the back of my neck, I would have laughed. I was born and raised a soldier. It took months at sea for me to live without the weight of a weapon. Months to convince myself to let go, to believe I made the right decision to leave the realm of Mirra’kelan, and all that happened there, behind. Even longer, to embrace my new life and enjoy my status as owner of a fine ship.

  I was an explorer now, a free man. Setting out to follow the fabled voyage of my Shinree ancestors, to retrace their route from over a thousand years ago, gave my life a new direction; one that didn’t involve killing. For the first time, I held no ties to any realm or any army. I had no war to fight. No enemies.

  The latter, I was still getting used to.

  I’d felt a change, though, the last few weeks. After a rocky start, days of refreshing winds, crystal water, and bright sun had tanned my skin and lifted my spirits. Quiet nights with a bottle and a blanket of stars, calmed my restless mind. I’d grown comfortable.

  Lax. Sloppy.

  Stupid.

  This morning’s reading of the map indicated we were still two days out from our first destination: The Wandering Isles, a legendary island chain once hailed for producing and exporting exceptional spirits. It was said they were near impossible to find. Some claimed the isles a myth. Others declared the area cursed and abandoned, as none of their inhabitants had been seen on Mirra’kelan’s shores in generations.

  The rumors led me to believe we’d find nothing of consequence. I’d come to think of the islands as merely a spot on the map. At the least, it would prove to be a place to hunt and feel land beneath our feet again. But I got swept up in the voyage and dropped my guard.


  And we’ve drifted into gods know what.

  A deep, throaty whisper caressed my ear. Spinning as it sped by, I grasped the shard of obsidian dangling from the cord around my neck. The black stone warmed against my skin, as the energy inside it stirred. A pure-blooded Shinree, my kind were known for our compulsive use of stone magic; among other, less-kind descriptors. It took but a thought for me to rouse the shard’s power. Its black aura left the stone and eagerly sunk beneath my skin. With it came a zip of pleasure and a welcome sense of control. I wished for strength, and vigor swept through me with a shudder. Muscles relaxed. Adrenaline fell to a more tolerable level, tempering my unease.

  Yet the magic wasn’t enough to erase everything. It never was. Remorse still crouched in the corner of my mind; an ever-present, unanswerable longing for things to be different. A wish that the dark, swirling magic-scars decorating my body weren’t constant reminders of the friends I lost to war; that the limited spells at my disposal weren’t a reflection of the immense power I once wielded—and lost. Power that could help me now, I thought. But it was gone, and with it, any hope of ever being more than the addict I was born to be.

  I drew more magic in to settle my spiraling thoughts. My gaze landed on the hatch leading below deck. It was closed. Red gathered on and around the lid, looking for a way in. The seal was good. But this wasn’t a normal storm—and Jarryd was below deck.

  Running for the hatch, amidst the downpour, a wet spray flew from my lips as I hollered his name. “Jarryd!”

  My only crew, my friend, my nef’taali in the old language of my people, Jarryd Kane should have sensed my urgency and concern. If the jolt woke him, he also sensed magic lessening the emotions. Not because he could wield any himself. Jarryd was Rellan and lacked the ability to cast magic. He perceived mine, though. A desperate spell I cast years ago, to save his life, bound our souls by magic. Since then, he felt what I felt.

  That wasn’t always a good thing.

  I reached for the handle, and the hatch burst open. Jarryd’s head poked up from the darkness below. Instantly, the red rain peppered his braided brown hair, turning it a dark auburn as he stood, perched on the ladder. Groggy, with lids half-closed, he rubbed the stubborn sleep from his eyes. “Are we there already? Did we find the islands?”

  “We found something. But if there’s land out there, I can’t see it.”

  Vision clearing, Jarryd’s sun-worn, unshaven features froze. He ogled the colored drops splashing his skin with a deep, puzzled squint. “It’s…pouring blood. Ian,” he looked up, his voice bordering on anger, “what the hell did you do?”

  “It wasn’t me. I swear,” I added at his disbelieving glare.

  “Then how do you explain this?” Jarryd scrambled up on deck. He let the latch fall closed behind him. “Because rain doesn’t come in red.”

  “Not naturally.” I focused, searching for the familiar tightness of a spell on the air. There was nothing. “Unless it was cast remotely, this isn’t Shinree magic. And it isn’t blood.”

  “So what is it?” Jarryd grimaced, sniffing the droplets pooled in his hand.

  “I don’t know.” Admittance of my ignorance didn’t sit well. Magic, I understood. Magic, I could fight. This…

  Jarryd’s gaze darted. Dread sunk his voice to barely a whisper. “Do you hear that?” He sprinted to the rail. “It sounds like voices.”

  I listened but heard only the rain.

  “There has to be land out there,” he said, “or another ship. It must be right beside us. Gods, Ian—” he covered his ears, as I had a moment before. “How do you not hear that?”

  I moved up and steadied him, passing Jarryd a measure of strength through our open connection. “I used to think Shinree magic was the only magic in this world. But there are other powers out there. There are other powers here. And right now, they’re pulling out all the stops.”

  Panting, Jarryd struggled for an even breath. “What…?”

  “This isn’t an attack. It’s a show. A display of power to intimidate and scare us. And if they’ve already sensed what I am, it’s a threat assessment. Forcing me to reveal my hand will show them what kind of magic I wield.”

  “They’re pushing you,” he said. “I guess they’re not very smart.”

  A chorus of voices bled out from the clouds. Hoarse, like a blade sliding on stone, they hissed as one, “Murderer… Witch… Defiler… Betrayer… Insurgent… Destroyer of life… Ian Troy, we welcome you.”

  Beneath the red droplets, Jarryd’s face went white. “How do they know those things? We’re nowhere near Mirra’kelan.”

  “Looks like my reputation’s arrived before me.”

  Apprehension slowed the shake of Jarryd’s head. “No, Ian. It—they—spoke of me, not you.”

  “What? What did you hear?”

  Jarryd glanced away, and I understood: his greeting was tailored to his own misdeeds. While I had a lifetime of transgressions, and I was used to hearing them slung in my direction (or recited in my own head), Jarryd wasn’t. A royal messenger before we met, he grew up full of loyalty and ideals, with zero crimes to his name. Any blemishes Jarryd earned were recent, brought on by the rigors of war, and likely my fault.

  I wasn’t going to stand for anyone throwing them in his face.

  Staring into the cloud, my warning cut through the wall of rain. “Enough! Whatever you’re here for, you deal with me and me alone.”

  “Ian,” Jarryd said, “you don’t have to…”

  A rapid narrowing of my eyes ended his protest. Jarryd was fast, clever, and a capable fighter. What skills he didn’t learn through training, he inherited from me through the magic joining our souls. But he wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t for me.

  I remembered his vow clearly: “Where you go, I go.”

  The spell left Jarryd little choice. I left him little choice.

  The least I could do was protect him.

  Stepping away, I raised my voice. “This is my ship. If we’ve strayed into your waters, it’s my doing. Whatever offense you’ve taken, I’ll try to rectify. But only if you leave him alone!”

  A single masculine voice replied. “Belligerent!” Unlike the eerie whispers from before, this one was loud and robust, penetrating the mist as he proclaimed, “Perhaps too much?”

  “Can you not see his burdens?” a female added, soft like a breeze. “So many. So very many. I told you this one has much to share. He buries it deep, but it burns bright.”

  I turned to search for the source of their disembodied voices, but it was coming from too deep within the fog. I couldn’t pinpoint it.

  “I do see,” a second female agreed; wary, and less wistful than the first. “But we should not let his wealth blind us. His body is marked. You know what it means. He is—”

  “Perfect,” the first sighed. “Ripe.”

  Leaning in, Jarryd grimaced. “She meant that in a good way, right?”

  A sudden hush encased the ship. Rain met the boards in silence. The drops slowed, no longer pooling or bouncing. Instead, they thickened and coalesced, creating strange pockets and borders that appeared to, somehow, contain the fog. Accumulating faster, climbing the seemingly empty air as it fell, the congealing liquid formed vertical outlines of tall, imperfect shapes all over the deck. The outlines tucked in places and expanded in others. Spilling sideways, like a slow run of honey, the rain drew faint features on the mist inside. Rapidly, the trapped clouds were becoming something recognizable.

  Bodies, I thought, once more cursing my lack of a sword.

  Angles and the viscous rim defined them as male and female, but there was nothing solid about them. As the falling rain rippled over their forms, details trickled and ran. The suggestion of eyes, lips, claw-like fingers, and breasts leaked red onto the wooden deck. More syrupy rain separated from their edges to slide in and repair the damage.

  Jarryd let out a wary breath. “This is…new.”

  Quietly, I asked him, “Are you armed?”

/>   “Assuming my knives would do any good against a—a cloud?” he said awkwardly. “No. This one’s all you.”

  My cabin was twenty paces away. Inside, in a box, was a small bag of uncut stones; purchased before we left. Setting out into the unknown without a basic supply wouldn’t have been smart. Alongside the bag was a leather wristlet of smaller fragments, given to me years ago. I eyed the cabin door, weighing odds and options.

  Normally, obsidian was enough for the battle spells my blood allowed. With it, I could create a number of reliable unpleasantries. Yet, I had no idea ‘what’ was on my ship or which stones would inflict damage. Until I did, casting randomly was a waste of strength—which meant making a run for more stones was a foolish risk with no promise of reward.

  So, I took in the obsidian and waited, as more jelly-like sheathed bodies formed. An audience grew, floating over the shrouded sea beyond the rail and hovering in the rigging. Partial faces became visible in the crowded mist. Two of the more distinct forms, one male and one female, separated from the cloud. Their semi-soft edges undulated as they advanced. Arms swung in a rhythm at their sides, but they weren’t walking. It was more of a glide.

  I ignored Jarryd’s grumbled protest and pushed him behind me.

  The two stopped closer than I liked. Water vapor burbled from the male’s mouth as he spoke. “What do you seek here, Shinree?”

  “If you tell me where ‘here’ is, I might be able to answer you. Where are we?”

  “Where you chose to come,” he replied.

  I took the only guess I had. “The Wandering Isles?”

  Declining to confirm or deny, he asked again, “What do you seek? Are you here to take our treasures and pillage our land?”

  “We’re not pirates. And I’m not here for your land.” I gestured past the rail at the blanket of red mist. “I can’t even find it.”