“Seems the beastie don’t much like your piss,” Rogger said. “Not that I can blame it, having shared a cell with you.”
“It isn’t Tylar’s water the beast shuns,” Delia said, awe tracing her words. “It’s the Grace held within.”
The jelly shark writhed upon the middeck, rocking the ship with its mass. The dark stain upon its flesh continued to spread, as if the beast were being cooked from the inside.
“What’s happening?” Rogger asked.
Delia watched, her eyes studious. “A miiodon’s digestive venom is kept from consuming its own flesh by the beast’s body heat. That’s why the Chilldaldrii ice harpoons can fend off the creatures. A wound from an ice spear activates the jelly shark’s own poison around the point of contact, causing the venom to eat the beast’s flesh. The pain drives the creature back into the sea where it eventually heals.”
Tylar watched the darkened sections of the miiodon begin to melt and slough. If Delia was right, the miiodon wasn’t cooking from the inside out. It was eating itself from the inside out.
Finally, the jelly shark’s thickest tentacle, ending in a footpad, lashed out to the starboard rail. It grabbed hold and heaved its bulk over the side, seeking to escape the agony. The miiodon crashed gracelessly into the sea and sank away.
“Will it survive?” Rogger asked, leaning over the rail and watching the bubbling fade to empty seas.
“Doubtful,” Delia answered. “That was no mere harpoon that struck the beast, but the full Grace of a god’s blessing.”
Tylar remembered Delia saying something similar a moment before. “What are you talking about?”
She faced him. “You cast a blessing upon the beast, a charm of icy waters.”
“A charm from his piss?” Rogger interrupted.
She nodded. “And blood.”
Tylar remained very still. He was no Hand, trained in the art of Graces, but having been a Shadowknight he was not ignorant of how a god’s bodily humours functioned. Only the flows from a god could bless or charm.
“What are you saying?” he whispered hotly. “That my fluids have the same potency as a god’s?”
“Not any god’s,” Delia answered. “Meeryn’s.”
“Impossible,” Rogger muttered.
Delia kept her focus on Tylar. “I saw it the day you were whipped in the yard. I recognized the glow of Graces in your blood. When Meeryn died, she not only gifted you with the dred ghawl. She somehow granted you her power as a god. It flows through all your humours, not just your blood.”
It seemed impossible, but Tylar had only to stare at the empty decks as proof. He remembered the icy touch of the repostilary in his hand. Could it be?
First a shadowy daemon, now the very Graces of a god…
Before anyone could question further, the crash of a hatch drew their attention around. Captain Grayl appeared, followed by a cadre of sailors, all armed with swords.
The boulder of a man gaped at the empty decks. “By all the gods, it’s true! The jelly shark… it’s gone!”
“Back into the sea,” Rogger said.
“How… why…?”
Rogger shrugged. “Mustn’t have liked the taste of your fine ship. Too salty, I’d guess.” The thief leaned toward Tylar and Delia, and whispered through his beard. “Perhaps we should continue this other discussion below.”
Tylar risked a slow nod.
The captain’s attention had focused elsewhere. His ship had been saved, but it was far from unharmed. The center mast was gone, and what was left of the middeck still steamed with poison. It would take some time to get her seaworthy again.
“You and you!” the captain yelled. “Get new planks from the bilge deck! You! Hoist up buckets of scrub salts! Where the naether is my first mate?”
Behind the captain’s back, Rogger motioned to the open hatch.
As a group, they retreated to the doorway leading to the lower decks. Tylar had his own questions.
But was he ready for the answers?
In a short time, the trio gathered in the cabin shared by Tylar and Rogger. It was no more than a cupboard with stacked beds against one wall and a single wardrobe. There was no window, only a lone lamp burning blubber from a leechseal. The smoky flame cast little light but plenty of stench.
Rogger sat on the bed, rubbing his bare feet, while Delia stood by the closed door, stiffly, as if unsure she should be in such close quarters with two men.
Tylar paced in front of the wardrobe.
Rogger spoke, picking at a blackened toenail. “So the boy here is crammed full up the arse with godly Graces.”
“I’m certain,” Delia said.
Rogger nodded. “Then I’m beginning to fathom how Tylar’s able to hold a daemon inside him… with that much Grace running through him.”
“There certainly might be a connection,” Delia agreed. “I hadn’t considered that.”
Tylar was less interested in such ponderings, but he kept silent.
Rogger scratched his beard. “Let’s start at the beginning. Meeryn was one of the water gods, right?”
Delia nodded. All the gods had varied talents and abilities, but all basically were categorized as one of four aspects: air, water, loam, and fire. Rogger raised one eyebrow. “And you just guessed that Tylar had the ability to freeze the jelly shark. That he could pass on an ice charm with his piss and-”
Delia cut him off. “We prefer the phrase yellow bile.”
“Yes, and shite is black bile. Pretty words for what can be found in a chamber pot. But tell me how you knew Tylar could perform such miraculous acts.”
“As I said, I suspected from the Grace glowing in his blood.”
“And so you just took a gamble with the jelly shark, hoping his piss was blessed with Grace, too.”
A bit of color flushed Delia’s cheeks. “Not so large a gamble as you might suppose. Who do you think has been emptying the chamber pots from your cabin?”
Rogger blinked a moment, glancing to the bedside, then laughed. “By all the gods, Delia, you little secret alchemist! You already knew Tylar’s humours were rich in Grace.”
“I didn’t want to say anything,” she mumbled. “Not until I was sure.”
Tylar studied his body as if it were a stranger. He spoke, turning his face to Delia. “You were a Hand to a god. Tell me what I can expect.” Her eyes grew sympathetic. “I can tell you only what I know of gods. A mortal man has never borne such power. You have good reason for caution.”
“Tell me of the gods, then.”
She nodded. “Each god holds eight humours. Blood is the key to all, but you must learn how each of the others serves. You’ve seen how your water could pass on a Grace, but it lasts only a short time. It would take… well…” She motioned to her waist.
“His seed,” Rogger filled in.
She nodded. “It would take such a humour to permanently pass on a Grace to a living person or animal.”
“While my sweat could do the same to an object, something inanimate,” Tylar said. “Like blessing a Shadowknight’s cloak.” He knew that such sacred garb was anointed in the sweat of gods from all four aspects. It was this charmed blessing that granted the cloth the ability to shift shadows.
“Exactly,” Delia said. “All the remaining humours are what we call qualifiers, refiners of a charm.” She touched the corner of her eye. “ Tears hold the ability to enhance a blessing or charm already laid.” She touched her mouth. “While saliva contains the ability to weaken the same. But such an effect’s duration depends on the quantity applied.”
“That still leaves two others,” Rogger said, ticking off with his fingers.
She nodded. “ Sputum, or phlegm, is more complicated, used more in the field of alchemy. Such a humour can combine the Graces from various aspects, such as a fusion of fire and water. The combinations are myriad and would require a skilled alchemist to explain in more detail. I don’t fully-”
“Yes, whatever,” Rogger said. “And we all know what the last does. Black bile. We ran into a pair of bloodnullers in the dungeons.”
