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There are fates worse than death.

“Who are you?” I called the question over my shoulder on a cold wind. “Who are you and how do you know me?”

“Lirr,” was his simple response. I sensed he’d stopped a few paces behind me, and there was no other sound save the wind and the roar of the flames. He added, almost an appeal, “Remember me.”

I waited for him to go on, to answer my second question. When he didn’t I looked back, again glimpsing the fire over his shoulder. His expression was nearly inscrutable, but there was a tightness around his shadowed eyes, something that might have beenhurt—ifeverything else about him hadn’t emanated danger and death.

I began to sing, urgently and softly. Within a few words I caught the scent of snow, and the patter of my heart against my ribs turned into thunder.

“You will remember,” he said quietly. He noted the snow, now a thick white veil between us and reached out, fingers parted. “Come.”

The need to flee still burned through me, but my thoughts thinned with every passing second. My vision was full of hisface—hiseyes, his compulsive draw. I felt like I was back on the gallows again, slipping prematurely from my own skin.

My ears began to ring. In that void, someone else tookover—aferal, reckless side of myself that knew no fear or logic.

I hurled myself over the side of the ship.

OTHER, THE—Being that second plane of existence, which is outside the experience of common men. The Other is the birthplace of an array of creatures, including ghistings, morgories, implings, dittama and huden. It remains inaccessible to all humans save the preternatural: mages and their ilk, who may even walk its ethereal paths. See alsoDARK WATER, SECOND PLANE, WINDWARD REALM.

—FROMTHE WORDBOOK ALPHABETICA: A NEW

WORDBOOK OF THE AEADINES

SEVEN

The Mereish Coin

SAMUEL

Hartnosed down the coast of Aeadine, tense and quiet. Half a dozen hands equipped with spyglasses were positioned all about the ship, from bow to maintop, with Fisher at the stern.

I scanned the horizon, all grey storm clouds and docile waves. We had found Antiphony Cove empty several hours before and commenced cruising the shoreline, but there was no sign of Lirr. The only vessels in sight belonged to fisherfolk, small and single-masted. Many of them were hauling in torn and tangled nets, yesterday’s storm having caught them unawares. Gulls wheeled over us all and converged on shit-streaked cliffs.

Lirr was gone. I felt the truth like I felt the cold wind biting my cheeks, freezing my breath in my beard and the fine hairs inside my nose.

I lowered my spyglass and fiddled with the oval coin in my pocket, trying to disperse the sense. But though it dulled, it stayed.

“Mr. Rosser.” I looked up as Slader joined me at the rail, hands clasped behind his back in his usual stance. He was not dressed for thecold—Iwore a large overcoat atop my usual coat, along with scarf and a cap, but he wore only his frock coat and waistcoat. His cheeks were flushed though, and I caught drink on his breath as he ordered, “Find him.”

“Sir?” I released the coin, tension wending up the back of my neck.

“You’re a Sooth,” Slader stated, dropping his chin to glare at me. We were of a height, he and I. “He’s a mage. You told me you could track creatures like him in the Other.”

“If I had met the man, yes,” I protested. We had had this discussion before. “But without having touched him, I cannotjust…findhim. Sir, we ought to set course for Tithe. He had an interest in Randalf and the Stormsinger, that much wasclear—”

“I’ll decide our course, Mr. Rosser,” Slader cut me off, loudly enough to earn glances from several nearby hands. The wind eased at the same time, and the scent of rum wafted off the captain as he leaned forward, offering his next words to me alone. “You’ve only one use to me, boy. So, prove your worth, or get the hell off my ship.”

I locked my expression down before myfrustration—andworry—couldshow. “Sir,” I grunted, folded my spyglass, and went below.

The stove in Fisher’s and my cabin was cold when I entered, but I did not stoke it. The dragonflies in our lantern pulsed gently in their sleep, giving me barely enough light to see, but I did not wake them. Cold and discomfort would serve me far better than light and heat.

I methodically divested myself of my outer clothing. I unbuttoned my frock coat and waistcoat with fingers that trembled with anxiety. I pulled off my cap and unwound myscarf—itfelt too much like a noose,anyway—andsat on the deck on my side of the canvas divide.

I toyed with the worn coin, trying to sap some last thread of comfort from the talisman. The peace of it, the way my senses settled, reminded me of Mary’s song. My concern for the Stormsinger redoubled.

I slipped the coin back into my pocket, closed my eyes, and opened my mind.

The Other’s dark waters rushed into my head as if through a fractured hull. It came with a roar and a hiss and a deeper, more profoundcold—thecold of midwinter nights and forgotten tombs.