Shattered Landing: Tales of Haroon, #3

By Alice Sabo

Sylvie has been the soul seeker for a small village on an island in the Great Sea for all of her life. She makes sure that all of the fishermen make it back home regardless of storms or accidents. When a stranger arrives in a boat propelled by magic, her life is upended. Ludwyn demands that she join him on a mission to find the perpetrator of forbidden magic. He wants to use her ability to locate an extremely dangerous wizard. Despite her reluctance to leave her village, she's intrigued.

 

Along the way, they meet up with more Dwyners and soldiers, people who she considers to have more appropriate skills for this perilous endeavor. Incursions of bloodthirsty monsters from a different plane delay their quest. The barriers between worlds are thinning. Somehow, they must prevail to protect the people of Haroon from a flood of lethal creatures, but the hardships she faces are almost enough to break her.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alice Sabo
• Release date: Feb 28, 2021
• ISBN: 9781393631606

Alice Sabo

Alice Sabo is the author of over 25 novels in 7 series. Her character-driven stories range across multiple genres including science fiction, post-apocalyptic, high fantasy, mystery and contemporary fantasy. Whether seeking lost cultures in an unforgiving galaxy or fighting the Darkness on the streets of the city, her books have strong world building, multi-layered characters and a satisfying culmination.

Book preview

Chapter 1   

The Margreth stood at the edge of the sea plying the skill that had been carried down through the generations of her family. A soul charm dangled from her outstretched hand guiding her seeking mind. The village called on her whenever a sailor was late to return. Out on the water, she could feel the presence of so many familiar souls, but not the one she needed to find. Conrad was an old man. The charm he had worn since birth was deeply imbued with his essence. She connected more deeply and threw out the net of her seeking.

There.

He’s alive, she said.

A crowd stood on the rocky shore below her perch on Outlook Rock. Salt spray rose on a brisk wind, spattering her with cold drops. She didn’t need to stand up here on the narrow stone jutting into the surf, but she’d learned that it gave her a certain authority and much needed privacy. Soul-seeking needed a certain vulnerability, almost an in timacy, that was hard to achieve while rubbing shoulders with her neighbors.

How far?

It was the same question every time a fisherman didn’t come home to Gull’s Nest. Were they shipwrecked or escaping? Should a rescue be mounted, or a divorce decreed? She’d had to learn that delicate dance over her decades of service. A wrong word could cause more grief than was needed. A pause or gentle detour from the raw truth was often more kind. Today, it was a simpler truth that she could readily share with everyone.

She knew the sea as well as any sailor despite never having set foot in anything larger than a row boat. Her seeking had shown her all the hazards and harbors where her people turned up. In her mind’s eye, she saw the subtle landmarks that even the most seasoned fisherman might miss. Apparently, had missed. He’s hauled up on the Twisted Sands.

The rescue team hurried to their boats. A rustle of relieved comments moved through the waiting villagers. With luck, Conrad would be home by supper. She placed her feet carefully on the slippery steps carved into the side of the rock as she descended to the beach. Nellie was waiting at the bottom to retrieve her husband’s soul charm.

Thank you, Sylvie, Nellie said as she scooped the charm into its embroidered bag. Conrad would put it on again as soon as he stepped on dry land. I worry about the old salt.

He felt very annoyed, The Margreth shared. She only allowed the elders to call her by her birth name. It was always a difficult political maneuver of power for the women in the village. Nellie had known her since she was a child. Like many of the older women, she felt more like an aunt than simply a neighbor.

Oh, aye. If he fetched up on the Twisted Sands then he wasn’t paying attention. Nellie’s mouth twitched between relief and anger. He’ll be hopping mad if there’s damage to the boat.

Duty done, Sylvie headed back to her cottage on the cliff side. The steep path was well-worn from the centuries of Margreths that had lived here. Carved from the dense stone of the island, her comfortable home had been a gift to the first Margreth from a grateful village. From here she could look down on the pier, the drying racks filled with fish, the old ones mending nets and sails and the ever churning waters of the Great Sea. It was a stunning view, and one she grew to appreciate more each day.

Her apprentice, Ayla, was waiting with a hot cup of tea. Brisk wind today, Sylvie she said with a knowing nod.

Thank you. Sylvie wrapped chilled fingers around the clay mug. She was a woman of middle age, but the skill hung heavier on her with every seeking. Some days it leaned on her cruelly. It was all part of the gift. As she eased herself down into a chair by the fire, she could remember making tea for her grandmother. The gift didn’t always come true in every generation. She’d come to it barely in time to be trained before she’d had to take on the burden. There were scant candidates after her. Ayla was a cousin, not the direct line, but hopefully strong enough to do the job.

The warmth of the fire and herbs in the tea began to set her right. She relaxed in the warmth of the fire. Ayla was clattering around in the kitchen as she made lunch. Despite the successful seeking, Sylvie felt uneasy. Something wasn’t quite right, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. Staring into the flames, she thought about the strange sensation she’d felt a few days ago, a shivery wrongness that felt like the world had ducked a blow. She couldn’t shake the disquiet it had left behind, a not-quite ache in her bones.

She had half a mind to go see Knotty about it. The strange young Nightwalker was new to the shrine of Lamdar but was gaining some acceptance in the village. If old Banberry was still alive, she’d have gone to the shrine immediately. They’d put him to rest in high summer and Knotty had shown up the next day. He knew the rituals and kept the shrine in the proper manner, but Knotty was so young that she didn’t know what kind of counsel he could give her when she’d spent more years walking Haroon than he had. The fire spat sparks up the chimney as if contradicting her. Something very strange had happened, and she needed to tell someone. At the very least, Knotty could send word up to his superiors.

With the last sip of tea, she made up her mind. She’d travel up to the shrine tomorrow and set the wheels in motion. If nothing came of it, at least she’d have done her duty. And yet, the unease lingered. There was more to be done, a dangerous storm in the offing, but she didn’t know how to set her sails for it.

Chapter 2   

Shattered Landing was a loose confederation of independent villages established on a rocky archipelago off the coast of the Marshes. Separated by treacherous passages, travel between the small islands was only possible for those who had been raised there. The villages depended on the sea for all its needs. Whatever they couldn’t harvest from its waters was brought in by boat. Every family had people out on ships. And all those families counted on the Margreth to make sure the sailors came back home.

As the sun shifted lower over the shoulder of the island, Sylvie heard the stir of voices above the shush of the waves and the calling of the seabirds. It didn’t sound like the joyous homecoming that she was expecting for Conrad.

What’s up? Ayla asked, peering out the window. Sylvie was glad to see that her apprentice was as tuned to the mood of the village as she was. It was a sign that she would be a good Margreth.

Sylvie opened the door with a tingle of anticipation. Something was about to happen, but she couldn’t say if it was good or bad. Her gift for that was weak, but she’d always considered that lack a blessing. Forecasting was a dangerous skill, and one easily misinterpreted.

A single mast boat, propelled by a contrary wind, approached the pier. A shiver ran up her spine. No one needed special skills to feel how unnatural that was. It wasn’t a Shattered Landing boat; she could tell by the design. She’d never seen that shape in the waters around her home. A strange boat and strange magic was a disturbing and dangerous combination.

The villagers gathered at a distance gossiping and speculating. The strongest were out on the boats leaving just the too young and too old to face this stranger. The King’s banner flew from the mast. Sylvie took that as possibly a good sign, regardless of how unexpected. They hadn’t seen anyone from the King in generations. She wrapped a thick shawl around herself before she marched down to the shore.

A tall, commanding man with a gray beard and long gray hair stood in the bow. As he got closer, the whispering died down to uneasy silence. A few of the older folk scurried back to their cottages, to watch from behind closed curtains. The others turned toward her as she headed to the pier. They all expected Sylvie to handle the unprecedented situation. She was the closest thing they had to a magician, but she knew how truly lacking she would be when it came down to it.

The boat came alongside the dock without a bump or scrape. The man stepped out onto the pier as if he’d done that every day of his life. He looked even larger in person. Sylvie squared her shoulders and approached.

I am The Margreth. What brings you to Gull’s Nest? She was proud of how strong her voice sounded despite the nerves that weakened her knees.

I am Ludwyn. He scowled at the villagers. Gull’s Nest? He turned to frown at the sea. I hadn’t thought I’d had gotten that far south.

She realized then that she should have expected him to be a Dwyner. That would explain the unnatural wind driving his strange boat. She’d never met a Dwyner’s Guide herself, but she’d been warned about how powerful they could be. And difficult. He hadn’t answered her question. She planted her feet, blocking his path. Despite having to crane her neck to glare at him, she stood firm.  What brings you to Gull’s Nest? she repeated.

What shrines do you have here? Ludwyn asked.

Sylvie refused to be ignored. She had stared down drunken fishermen and angry elders,and  a Dwyner couldn’t be much harder. Although he towered over her, she put on her best scowl and kept her silence.

His storm-cloud gray eyes had a measuring gaze, taking in the village that meandered up the shoulder of the island and stony heights beyond. It took a long, treacherous minute before those eyes focused on her. And it took all of her strength not to flinch from the depth of power in them. She had no doubt that he could call down lightening to strike her dead on the spot. Her breath shuddered in her chest. She pulled her shawl a little tighter and broke their gaze first.

What brings you to Gull’s Nest? she asked for a third time.

I’m seeking a stranger, he replied obliquely.

Despite the vagueness of his comment, she felt that warning tingle again. Whatever was coming was tied up with this man and his search. She made up her mind to trust him for the moment. I have seen no one who does not belong here, but I can speak of a strange occurrence.

His eyes showed interest.

Come to the house. It isn’t a long story, but we don’t need to stand in the wind.

Chapter 3   

Ayla must have guessed her intentions because tea was already laid out by the time they reached the cottage. That was good. It gave a structure to the unusual discussion. Sylvie pointed him into a chair as Ayla poured the tea. He was a big man wrapped in flowing robes, but he sat carefully on the chair that her great-grandfather had made out of driftwood and rushes. The Dwyner made her see the small cottage from a stranger’s eyes. Old stone, hollowed and smoothed from the generations of hands and feet that crossed it. The well made furniture, woven rugs and embroidered hangings that defined the spaces of her home looked a little faded and worn to her today.

Ayla sliced cake and served it without a word which was a miracle in itself. Sylvie took a sip of steaming tea to warm her shaky innards before speaking. It was about a week ago. Lamdar was a thin sliver in the sky.

Ah, Lamdar is it? Ludwyn asked. I wasn’t sure who cared for the people of the Stepping Stones.

Sylvie shook her head angrily. We don’t use that name. It’s disrespectful. Our islands are more than simple stones for the King’s soldiers to step on. We have a long history. We’ve been here longer than the King has been in Obsidian. Before that place was even founded. We were here when it was the great city of Primus Landing. And we are still here after the great calamity has made us Shattered Landing.

Ludwyn examined his cake, poking at it with a fork. You do have a long history.

One that warned us of the Dwyners, Sylvie said bluntly. She’d been told that the Dwyners were responsible for the destruction of Primus Landing, breaking the land into its current form, but that was an ancient tale and probably well embroidered. But a strange thing shook the world, and I suppose you are the ones to deal with it.

You felt it? Ludwyn asked.

I don’t know what it was, but something happened that felt deeply wrong.

Here?

No. It was to the west. I felt no danger close by.

Just the once?

Sylvie had to think about that. There had been odd shivers, but nothing that had felt as unnatural. There might have been something awhile ago, but it must have been very far away. That feeling was more of a bad dream half-forgotten that comes back to unsettle you in the daylight.

Ludwyn finished off his cake and reached for the platter to boldly help himself to another slice. The first gate was far away.

Gate. He used the word as if it meant something more than a way into the garden. Why do you seek the stranger?

Those gray eyes settled on her painfully. Because he wreaks havoc.

That gave her no more information, and she refused to beg. She decided a smaller blade might crack open this tight clam. Does the King say so?

The stranger may be in league with Outplaners, Ludwyn grumbled. The gates have brought too many of them. It cannot be a coincidence.

Outplaners? Sylvie asked with barely hidden skepticism. That was an ancient tale as dry as cold ashes.

They don’t belong on Haroon. They cannot be allowed to continue with this dangerous plot of theirs.

Who do they plot against? Sylvie asked. If this was simply some political conflict, she didn’t want Gull’s Nest drawn into it. For all she knew, this man was here