Crown of Bones

by A. K. Wilder

  Anyway, landers have their uses, and this is one of them. Of course, they don’t believe in us anymore. They think they’re sacrificing marred children to appease the old gods. Let me say it again: stupid, idiot landers. There are no old gods at the bottom of the Drop, haven’t been since the last Great Dying. But, lucky for the children, there are Mar.

  The hull slices through the waves, splitting the water apart to leave a frothy wake behind. They lower the sails when over the Drop, a long crack in Amassia’s continental shelf. It runs for leagues from the coast of Palrio to the Isle of Aku. A nice, deep hole in our watery wonderland. Partway down the Drop, there are large pelagic fish. A moderate concern tonight. Below them lurk enormous, graceful squid, a problem only if they notice the pelagics thrashing about. Even lower, where no vertebrate can survive, are ancient things without bones—aquatic novelties that have survived many a Great Dying.

  So, no. There are no gods, old or new. Something is sure to enjoy a feed of lander babe if I fail, but it’s made of flesh and bone, not spirit.

  “Be ready.”

  As if I’m not.

  I rise under the ship and cling to the barnacle-covered keel, rocking side to side with the boat. “Need some maintenance down here, boys,” I say. The sailors do not hear me. They’re stunted when it comes to mind speech, though I can hear them under certain enjoyable circumstances, which involve proximity and blood. The thought makes me hungry.

  “Salila!”

  Hollow drumbeats echo through the hull, sending vibrations into the water. Landers think it alerts the gods, but really it attracts only sharks. Stupid, stupid, stupid…

  Teern appears out of nowhere, the rush of countercurrents ripping away my handhold. He always makes a showy entrance. I mask the thought, but maybe too late.

  Teern nods. His long black hair dances around his bearded face and broad shoulders. “Don’t lose this one,” he says.

  “Not planning to, Father.”

  The drums stop, and a splash breaks the surface of the water.

  A flurry of silver bubbles race upward through the dark as the offering plummets into the mouth of the Drop. All I can see is a bundle of iron chains. Honestly, do they think it can get away?

  “Go!”

  I push off. The ship is already drifting back from the ravine, so it takes a few kicks to go over the edge and toward the child. The water is thick, ice-cold to lander flesh. It doesn’t hamper me, but it will kill the baby in no time—that, and the prolonged asphyxiation. This would be so much simpler if Father would let me snatch them while still on deck, but oh no. We mustn’t reveal ourselves to the landers. Ever. If I were in charge, that rule would be the first to go.

  I kick harder, fingers stretching, touching. Grasping. The moment the little boy is in my arms, I roll back, pumping my legs to reach the surface, angling away from the ship at the same time. “Gotcha!”

  His rapid pulse throbs against my fingers. “He’s alive.” Sometimes they’re not. I untangle the thick links of chain and let them fall into the pitch-dark below.

  “Follow me.” Teern shoots off toward the Ma’ata coral groves, clearing the way.

  Bubbles no longer escape the baby’s lips, and the smooth pink skin turns gray. His eyes are wide, staring at nothing. “Don’t worry, little Mar. Salila has you.”

  I break the surface and suck in air. Not for me, for him. On the dive back down, I cover his mouth with my own and gently fill his lungs. I hear his heart pulse, once, twice, then more frequently. I swim under the waves, repeating the process, trailing Teern. The Ma’ata corals are near. “Almost home.”

  A part of me envies the deep-sea dreams he’s about to have.

  When we arrive, his pulse against my finger is slow and thready. I weave through the sunken graveyard, stirring up sand and parting kelp.

  “It’s a beautiful boy!” The Ma’ata Keeper directs me to an empty tomb. “Lay him here.”

  More of us gather around to chant and fend off predators.

  The Ma’ata Keeper pricks the baby’s heel with her eye tooth, and a few drops of blood drift over the tomb. My body trembles as the Ma’ata corals stir, opening their polyps, sending out tendrils. The Keeper places her hand on the baby’s heart. Teern joins her, as do I. “See, little brother? The Ma’ata has you safe.”

  In seconds, the corals, sparkling with their own violet bioluminescence, elongate and wrap themselves around the child like mummy cloth. Soon there is no hint of tiny hands save for a thumb, no sight of his face but half a vacant eye. Then even those last physical features disappear.

  “Success.” I smile and turn to go.

  “Too soon to tell,” Teern says, blocking my exit.

  Such a pessimist.

  “He has a good chance.” I toy with the tip of a feather duster worm until it snaps back into its tube. I can tell Teern has more to say, and I don’t want to hear it. “Tallyho, then.” I shoot toward shore.

  “Salila!” His voice stops me dead in the water, and I sink to the bottom. “Where are you going?”

  “Me?” I lift my chin.

  The look he gives is not pleasant. “You will follow the carrack.”

  I fidget with my hair. “Really? You don’t think he can do the job on his own?”

  “Remains to be seen, but you will keep me informed.”

  “Spy?” I brighten.

  “If you like calling it that.”

  “I do.” I’ve already been following the new passengers on the Sea Eagle since they left Baiseen. The young Heir especially catches my eye. All Mar know the leaders of the realms by sight, but Marcus Adicio…he’s a sight for hungry eyes.

  “What’s that, Salila?”

  “I said it’s a delight to serve at your pleasure, Father.”

  “Then catch up, and don’t be seen.”

  9

  Ash

  Vez venom and spit, I moan to myself. Death would be preferable to this.

  “Not necessarily,” my inner voice says like it’s a fine spring day.

  How would you know?

  I rock in the corner of the ship, arms around a wooden bucket. Seasickness absorbs my every thought, leaving little room to ponder what may or may not be happening topside. My stomach sloshes out of sync with the rise and fall of the Sea Eagle, and bouts of sweats alternate with sudden chills. I’ve suffered seasickness before, but never as bad as this.

  Marcus brings me herbal drinks, Piper mixing this concoction and that… I appreciate their efforts, but it’s not like I can hold any of them down. Still, it hasn’t completely addled my brain. I remember to question Marcus about his conversation with the captain. He says there’s nothing to worry about. Upon hearing his title—because apparently the Heir can’t go a minute without letting it slip—Captain Nadonis spouted assurances, swearing on all sorts of oceanic treasures that there never was, nor will be, a breach of Palrio’s law.

  Marcus was satisfied, and I’m going to hang on to that.

  “Kaylin did say none would be harmed…”

  I’m hanging on to that, too.

  The thought of the sailor makes me want to go topside. Not to find him! Oh no. Not feeling, and looking, like this. But I can’t stand to be trapped in the hold a moment longer.

  After a few deep breaths, I let go of my bucket and stagger to the galley. There everyone sits, enjoying the evening meal.

  “Ash.” Marcus gets up to help me. “Can you eat?”

  I warn him back with a weak hand. Words are too hard to form, and nodding my head? Out of the question. The smells of fried fish and hot oil are not helping. Piper offers to brew more of her concoction. I lurch past, mouth turned down, my throat full of bile. They don’t appear bothered at all by the rise and fall of the creaking vessel. Or the strong smells coming from the galley.

  I catch the eye of the chef, a massive man
wearing nothing but drawstring pants and a stained apron over his hairy chest. It’s not a pretty sight. He stares at me for a moment, then turns his gaze on Piper, all while paring his fingernails with a long kitchen knife. It’s as if my mind is homing in on the details that might make me sicker. The ship rocks again, and I stumble to the ladder. Belair rushes to offer help. My hand’s up, warning him back, too.

  The climb out of the hold saps what little strength I have left. But I reach the hatch, and thankfully, it’s wide open. As I emerge onto the deck, the sea air slaps my face, fresh and salty. I take a breath, lunge to the rail, and dry heave over the side. There’s nothing to do but hang on while the sun lights the horizon on fire. The coast is near, shadowy purple hills pitching up and down, gray mountains beyond, reaching for the clouds. I heave again. The sails, when I point my nose skyward to see them, are red like the brilliant sunset.

  “Not found your sea legs, lass?”

  “Demon’s f’qud!” I look over my shoulder at Kaylin. “You startled me.”

  “And you swear in Aturnian.” He looks quite pleased about that.

  “I swear in every language. I hope it didn’t offend you.” Mostly I hope he doesn’t notice how wretched I must look.

  “Offend? I’m a sailor. Your vocabulary’s a delight, but I can see you’re unwell.”

  “So astute.”

  Not now—hush!

  He steps closer, fortunately unable to hear my inner dialogue. “Give me your hand.”

  I grip the rail tighter. “I don’t think I can.” For several reasons, staying upright for one, but the fear of him smelling me runs a close second. “I think I left my legs back in the hold.” He’s still not wearing a shirt? All that smooth tan skin exposed. Doesn’t he feel the cold?

  “May I?” He stands next to me at the rail and pushes up the cuff of my embroidered sheepskin coat. His long fingers wrap around my wrist, searching for a particular spot on the inside of my arm. “There.” He presses two fingers into my skin quite hard.

  I flush from head to toe and feel the fine hairs on my arms lift. But the pain is good. It takes my mind off the next wave of nausea. “I, uh, need to wash.”

  “Let’s get you steady first.” He presses even closer, putting his arm around me to reach the other wrist as well.

  Gods of the sea, what this does to my nerves. Could a leaf tremble more? He puts pressure on the points, on both wrists, leaning in to my back, the rocking of the waves like a slow dance. Or it would be, if I weren’t unbearably ill.

  “This will help you make peace with the sea,” he whispers in my ear.

  I close my eyes and swallow another surge of bile. It stays down. Thank the Deep. He holds me like this for minutes. I don’t know how many. I start to lose track of everything, including my limbs. But my stomach…

  “Better?” Kaylin asks.

  I hesitate to admit it, in case it’s too soon to tell, so I say nothing.

  “See if you can stand now.” He turns me around to face him. His eyes dance when they find mine.

  I need only one hand on the rail as strength returns to my spine.

  “Drink of water?”

  I nod, and my brain doesn’t slosh up and down like a bucket of swill. No sickening cold sweat breaks out on my forehead. Warmth swells in my chest as I praise every divinity that has ever lived. I think he’s cured me!

  Kaylin demonstrates how to apply pressure to my own wrist. “Keep it firm. I’ll get you a drink.” He heads to the foremast, where the water barrels are lashed down.

  While he’s gone, two sailors walk by. I recognize one from the other day in Toretta, the sailor who had me drawing a knife to defend myself or, at least, stand my ground. He’s tossing a coin. When he slaps it onto the back of his hand, he shows his mate and they both laugh. I don’t want to think about their wager, but when Kaylin returns, they move off, suddenly busy with work.

  “Sip slowly.” Kaylin hands me a wooden cup.

  “I’m scared to let go of my wrist.”

  “Let me.” He takes over the pressure. It brings his hands, and bare chest, very close. He smells clean, like the ocean.

  The very air around me feels vitalized. The drink washes away the sour taste in my mouth. It reaches my stomach and spreads from there like a soothing balm. “This is more than just water?” I’ve never tasted anything so good.

  “Water from the springs of Tutapa.”

  “Ah.” I drink more. “Your home. Those fabled pools are known for their healing properties. I thought that was a myth.”

  “And now?”

  “A truth I am willing to boast from every rooftop.”

  He laughs, and I join him, though I want to roll my eyes at myself. Boast from every rooftop? Who says that?

  “Apparently, you do,” my inner voice chimes.

  When the cup is empty, I lick moisture from my lips. “I’m feeling much better.”

  “What are you doing on a sea journey, lass, if it affects you so?”

  “I’m always seasick, even crossing from Palrio to Nonnova, but it’s never been this bad.” I press my lips together and raise my chin. “It’s worth it, though.”

  “You love your work?”

  “That.” And then, more softly, “I plan to set foot on every realm in Amassia.”

  “Is that right?”

  “You think it ambitious?”

  “Not in a bad way,” he says. “It’s a worthy goal.”

  I realize he’s still holding both my wrists, standing close enough to, well…be close. A fresh wave of heat rises up my neck to my face.

  “You’re getting your color back.”

  And then some.

  “I…am?” Is he teasing? We rock up and down with the swell, comfortable in a gentle silence, until I remember how I must smell. “You said I could wash?” I wonder if there is any privacy. The “toilet” certainly has none.

  “This way.” He takes me by the hand and leads me aft, where we duck behind a stack of water barrels.

  “Where did you learn this?” I ask when he hands me a sponge and bucket. “The seasickness cure?”

  “A healer from the far north.”

  “You have to show Piper.”

  He gives a half smile but says no more.

  “Thank you, and to the northern healer. I thought I was going to die.”

  “If the sickness comes back, press again. Use these two fingers.” He shows me one more time. “Eat something as soon as you can. There’s broth on the stove.”

  I don’t want him to leave in case he takes the well-being away with him. “I’m very grateful.”

  “My pleasure. Have your wash, lass. You’re safe here.” He bows to me, and when I can’t think of anything else to say, he heads up the mast to the crow’s nest.

  I watch him climb while the sun fully sets. The sky is beautiful with its shades of purple, red, and inky blue. I can’t believe how much better I feel. It makes me want to sing, though I content myself with humming in the near darkness, not wanting to attract attention.

  “You’re safe.” My inner voice repeats his words, as much a comfort as the cure.

  I take off my clothes and wash. The water is cold, the wind colder, but the salty breeze quickly dries my skin. I shake out my pants and dress myself, feeling a renewed, inner strength. My sea legs become stable beneath me, and I rock easily with the motion of the ship.

  “You’re looking much improved.” Marcus is there when I step from behind the water barrels.

  I take the mug he hands me. “Have you been watching out for my privacy this whole time?”

  “Didn’t want the Sea Eagle’s crew to have the pleasure. They’ve been very liberal with their eyes on Piper.”

  “Have they?” I frown into the dark broth, gripping it tightly. If they so much as touch Piper, they’ll have to de
al with all five of us. “Thank you, then.”

  The mast creaks, and I gaze up at the night. There’s a silhouette in the crow’s nest, an outline against the stars. “Kaylin healed me.”

  “Who?”

  I tip my head to the top of the mast, and Marcus follows my gaze. “Kaylin, the bosun’s mate.”

  “Glad someone did. I was about to ask Piper to raise her phantom and heal you if it lasted one more day.”

  “As if she could.” Phantoms cannot be raised or put to ground over water. As with all things, they are born of the earth and so must pass through it to take form.

  “Let’s get you below.” Marcus leads the way to the hatch and down the ladder. He sits me at the table while the carrack smashes through wave after wave. I keep pressure on my wrist and manage another cup of broth and a chunk of bread. Finally, he retrieves my satchel for me so I can work on the records. He must be bored. Really bored. I’ve never seen him quite this helpful before.

  “He was worried about you,” my inner voice says.

  I smile at him. “Tell me what’s happened while I was sick—and don’t embellish. That’s my job.”

  Marcus laughs.

  He relays our exact position and details the conversation with the captain. “The ship, as far as I know, did not change sails or pause at the Drop. We’re headed straight to Capper Point, as a crow flies, the captain told me.”

  “That’s the best news.” I make notes for both him and Belair, whose records will be separate, of course, but with some overlap, especially on the journey to and from. The horror of child sacrifice is still with us, but at least the controversial black sails won’t be in the journey records. It sidesteps a much greater set of problems, but for now, I don’t see what else we can do.

  I start to put my quill and ink away, leaving the parchments on the table to dry, when the all-hands whistle sounds. A few crewmen run up to the deck, and the next thing I know, I’m slammed against Marcus, my gear sliding into his lap, ink bottles hitting the floor and rolling into the galley.

  “That was abrupt.” He helps me put everything back in my satchel.