I awake before dawn, still tired.
The church is cold and still. My eyes sting, and the darkness has softened into a pale blue haze that leaks through the broken windows.
Everything is washed in the dim morning. I sit up, my back cracking as I shift. I didn't sleep much. Couldn't. The whispers in my head didn't stop.
Even without the Somata, something crawled in the back of my mind all night, like a thought I couldn't kill.
My fingers twitch. I expect the fire in my chest to be gone, but it isn't. It's dull and dying.
I touch my ribs and wince; the pain is minor, but the pressure is still there.
I pull myself up, rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, stretching the numbness in my legs. The church looks different in the light. I can see it clearly now. Above the altar, over the tapestry, some sort of sigil is built right into the stone. It overlooks the entire room, gleaming with the rising sunlight.
It's a circle within a triangle, surrounded by two swords crossed over a closed eye. I stare at it for a moment longer.
My legs move before I decide to, and I stand straight up. I hear the mourning doves singing in the trees in the churchyard. There's a slight breeze wafting through the branches, some of it ruffling my hair.
My boots scrape the stone as I move through the aisle, stepping around debris. My footsteps echo more softly than they did last night. The oppressive silence is gone, replaced by the noises of dawn.
I push open the church door, and the cold morning air hits my face like a slap.
The air smells like the sea: salt, rot, wet wood. Bruis feels different somehow. There's a weight in the air. I know it all seems peaceful, but underneath the cover of darkness, the Somata are waiting.
I step out onto the stone path that leads through the churchyard, the wind curling around ruined graves. The iron gate creaks lightly. Then I see Ikaris.
He stands with his back to me, just beyond the gate. His white hair whips in the wind. There's blood on the stone near his feet, black like old oil.
"Ikaris," I call out. I step close, slipping through the gate, feeling a thick pulse resonating through my body, through my soul. I quickly figure that I have left the ward.
"Did you sleep?" I ask.
"No."
"No?"
Ikaris turns around, his coat flapping in the breeze. "I cannot sleep. I can't even if I wanted to." He doesn't pause. "Are you ready?"
I nod. "Yeah, where are we going?"
"Out of Bruis as soon as we can, on the first ship leaving port."
***
The streets are calm. Bruis is a port town; it's supposed to be loud, but in the mornings, the people start slow. There aren't many people traveling the streets.
Just a few vendors setting up carts, and sailors unloading crates. The smell of salt and tar is strong now, more bitter than before. Smoke rises in thin columns from chimneys.
We walk in silence, and I keep glancing at Ikaris. I can't help it. I'm not used to having someone watch over me, guiding me to a safe place.
"Hey, where are—"
"Don't stare at me when you speak."
I blink. "What?"
"Don't look at me when you speak," Ikaris repeats. "It draws attention."
"But barely anyone is out here."
"It'll draw attention to you. To you, boy, I may exist, but to them, I'm nothing but a ghost. I don't need you to get the attention of the pious, especially any Inquisitors."
"Don't call me 'boy.' I have a name—Cole Sear," I tell him. He doesn't glance my way. "Plus, we shouldn't worry about that. The Church of the Seven Saints doesn't have much strength here. Bruis is too active to have a single religion. There are all kinds of folks from other duchies and foreigners."
"They always have eyes. People like them won't ease their grip."
We continue forward. I don't understand Ikaris's unease with the Seven Saints. Only during the years of the Old Crown was their reach everywhere. But now, they barely hold on to the inlands.
We reach the edge of the merchants' district. The port comes into view, lined with towering ships, ropes thicker than my arms, sails furled and snapping in the morning wind. We walk on top of the seawall and see the dockhands shout orders, and crates are dragged down planks as sailors argue over breakfast.
It feels normal. It reminds me of when I used to walk here, by the ships, every day, hoping they would take me away. I didn't think I would be leaving like this, with someone like Ikaris.
"Do you have a ship in mind?" I ask.
Ikaris doesn't respond for a moment. "No," he says, "I arrived by land from the south, coming from Bainestown. I haven't been at sea in a few years."
I halt, moving toward the edge of the seawall.
"When's the last time you were in Bruis?"
"Sixteen years ago."
I glance back for a moment, staring at Ikaris's features. He doesn't look a day over thirty.
"How old are you?"
"Older than you'd believe," the man sighs, walking beside me, staring at the docked ships. "We need to be out before sunset."
"Sunset?"
"Around sunset, that's when the Somata start moving. And if we're not over the sea by then, you'll relive last night."