ONE Daniel Blackland's clearest memory of his father was from the day before his sixth birthday, when they walked hand in hand down Santa Monica Beach. That was the day Daniel found the kraken spine in the sand. It was a slate-gray morning, and Daniel shivered without a jacket, but he wouldn't complain. The soggy air carried roller-coaster screams from the pier, and Daniel hoped for a ride. Maybe he and his father would even drive the bumper cars, teaming up to bash other kids and their parents. But then he spotted the bone splinter in the foam of the receding surf, a silvery fragment the length of a knitting needle, rising from the sand like an antenna. Years later, he would wonder if his father had planted it there for him to find, but on this day, he hadn't yet learned that level of suspicion. The sliver drew him like a magnet.
Breaking contact with his father's grip, he ran across the wet-packed sand to claim his prize. When he brought it back, his father held the spine to his long, bent nose, and his dark eyes focused like a microscope over a glass slide. He took an aggressive sniff, as though he were trying to suck the soul out of it. In his white dress shirt and gray slacks, he resembled one of the seagulls wheeling overhead, and Daniel imagined him spreading his long arms to catch the wind and take flight. Daniel's mom once said his father was made of air. "Sebastian Blackland's not down here with us. That's why he's hard to understand. Spend too much time searching the sky for your father and you'll just crimp your neck.
" Sebastian held the sliver up to the weak sun. "Kraken. We hardly ever find these anymore. Not outside of the Ossuary, anyway. But something must have dredged it up from the sea floor, and then the currents carried it here, right in your path, just for you. It's not surprising. I've used a lot of kraken in my work, so it's in my bones, and I've passed some of that affinity to you." He handed the spine back to Daniel.
"The kraken used to live in the great deeps. They were creatures of storms and wind and rain and lightning. Not much in the way of solid skeletons, so their remains are rare." He paused and looked at Daniel, and Daniel felt as though he were being measured. He held his father's gaze, struggling to triumph over squirms and fidgets. "This is a good find, Daniel. Better than most of the La Brea fossils. The kraken is even older, with deeper osteomancy.
" Daniel glowed. His father didn't lavish idle praise. "Find me a seashell," he instructed Daniel. "Abalone would be perfect, but I'll take anything from the ocean I can use as a crucible." Daniel raced off. He found no abalone, but from a tangle of seaweed swarming with sand fleas, he excavated half a large mussel shell. He rinsed it in the surf, dug out some stubborn sand grains with his fingernails, and rinsed it again before bringing it over for Sebastian's inspection. "Good," Sebastian muttered.
"This will be good." They sat cross-legged on the sand together. "Do you trust me?" This was a serious question. An important one. Usually his father's eyes roamed when he spoke, looking at things Daniel couldn't see. Now, they saw only Daniel. Daniel loved him with the uncomplicated desperation with which small boys love their fathers. But trust? It had never occurred to Daniel not to trust him.
It was like earth. Daniel never wondered if it'd be there when he took a step. Now, the smallest of fissures opened in his unquestioning certainty. "I trust you," Daniel said, because he knew it was what his father wanted to hear. His father took the mussel and kraken spine and set them both on the sand. From a leather zipper case, he produced his scalpel. The handle was polished bone, coffee-stained from millennia in tar and so well used that there were indentations where his fingers gripped it. The blade was fashioned from the tooth of a Vipera americanus .
"I'm a powerful man," he said. It didn't sound boastful. It was a simple fact. "Some people want what I have. They're not dangerous to me, because I'm stronger than they are. But there are other people who are more powerful than me, and they're afraid I'll want what they have. Those people are very dangerous to me. And because you're my son, they're dangerous to you.
So, I have two choices. I can keep you ignorant and weak. Or I can try to make you strong. Do you understand?" "Not really," Daniel said. His father's smile formed a pale seam in his face. "No, of course not. I'm not sure I do either. But you said you trust me.
And there will be times when I ask you to do hard things. Things that hurt. Things that make you cry. But I'm doing them for your own good, so that when you grow up, you'll be strong. Stronger than me. Stronger than the people who are stronger than me. Can you understand that, at least?" Daniel nodded. "Good," said his father.
Daniel watched his father's hands work the kraken with the scalpel, curling away shavings and letting them drop into the shell. Sometimes Sebastian spoke as he worked, instructing Daniel in the way his teachers must have instructed him. He spoke of Elysia chlorotica , a sea slug he'd been studying that stole genes from the algae it ate and gained the ability to convert sunlight to energy. A natural osteomancer, he called it. But sometimes his words couldn't express what he was doing. Sometimes Daniel could only watch and smell. Some of what he smelled now was earthly-the salt and mud and sour rot of things from the bottom of the sea. And some of it was osteomantic, impressions of ancient things, lurking deep, of old power, of electric anger, waiting to discharge.
Next from the zipper case, Sebastian produced his torch. In outward appearance it looked very much like a cigarette lighter of burnished copper, but it was an intricate instrument with inner workings as complex as a fine watch. Sebastian thumbed it open and dialed the flame to a precise temperature. He applied it to the bottom of the shell, and the flame changed color, fading from intense red to pale peach, and then to an invisible heat. The flame wasn't just coming from the torch. Daniel's father was fueling it, too, and his heat baked Daniel's face. For a stretch of time, nothing happened. Sebastian remained perfectly still, holding the torch steady.
Daniel's foot began to fall asleep, so he counted ocean waves to take his mind off the tingling. By the time he got to seventy-five, the kraken shavings had melted to a tiny pool of molten silver. Sebastian spit into the shell. He wasn't a tobacco user, but his saliva was the same rich brown as the tar-infused bone handle of his scalpel. The kraken shavings burst into flame, with tall flickerings of gas-jet blue. "Our bodies are cauldrons," he said, "and we become the magic we consume." He often said things like that, things that circled around the perimeter of Daniel's understanding, sometimes veering just within reach before darting away into ever-widening orbits. Daniel could remember the names of osteomantic creatures and their properties-mastodon for strength, griffin for speed and flight, basilisk for venom-but he grew lost when Sebastian spoke of the root concepts of magic.
The blue flame deepened to a dark royal color, like the flags that snapped above the Ministry of Osteomancy building where Sebastian worked. When the flames shrank and died, he capped the torch and held the mussel-shell crucible out to Daniel. "Drink," his father said, not in the firm tone he used when Daniel didn't want to eat his brussels sprouts, but softer, more encouraging, almost a whisper of anticipation. "Drink." Daniel obeyed. He lifted the shell to his mouth, took a breath for courage, and touched his tongue to the fluid. His tongue blistered in an instant, and his taste buds charred and fell away. His hand jerked in pain, but his father's strong fingers steadied his wrist, and Daniel spilled no kraken.
"Drink," he said again, and maybe it was the pain, or maybe the magic, but it sounded as though his father's voice had come from the crucible. Daniel tipped the shell back and let the scalding silver slide down his throat. At first there was only fire and searing pain. He tried to scream but all that came out was a strangled croak, and in that croak was stored not only physical agony, but deeper injuries of betrayal. His father had done this to him. He was in pain because of his father. And then Sebastian's cool hand cupped the back of Daniel's head, as if he were an infant and his father were cradling him, and the pain went away, replaced by flavors and aromas of secret places in deep, sunless waters, and great black pressures from the miles of vertical ocean. Daniel was a skeleton swimming in the sea-water cage of his own body, and the pressure suddenly gave way and Daniel shot to the surface.
"Quick, now, Daniel. Hold my hand." Light-headed, Daniel gripped his father's hand as tight as he could. A prickling sensation raised goose bumps on Daniel's skin. The tiny hairs on his arms stood at attention, and his blood popped like cola. Gulls cried overhead and waves hammered the shore. Daniel looked up.