by Rj Barker
“You should thank the old man back in Bernshulme for these documents,” said Aelerin.
“If Yirrid still lives I will. What have you found?”
“This chart was buried at the bottom of Meas’s chest, it is very old. Fascinating, really. I…”
“Does it help us, Aelerin?”
“Ey, I think so. It speaks of seven channels through the ice fields.”
“But if it is old and the ice moves, what use is that?”
“These are channels of flowing water, D’keeper, they will keep themselves clear of ice. If we can find one then we can use it to leave.”
“But Keyshanpike may also find one,” he said, “and they may get out of here before us.”
“Or they may make their way slow and careful,” they replied. Joron stared into the mist, thinking about the decisions he could make now and all the destinations those decisions must have them travel to: some to Meas standing on the slate once more, some to the bottom of the sea where the Hag’s fire burned and all those Joron had lost on his journey so far waited. Go fast, or go careful?
“How far from the other side of the bank to Wilson’s Cut?”
“If Keyshanpike finds a way out before we do? Too far. They will catch us for sure.”
“Then there is little choice, we find a channel and we take it.” He looked out into the fog, well understanding the talk of ghosts. One second the haze was so thick he could barely see Aelerin, the next it cleared and he could see a landscape of vast islands of ice before the fog closed in once more. “Are there clues as to where they are on that?” he asked, pointing at the chart, and Aelerin nodded, showing him the parchment.
“We are here, I think.” They pointed at a space about two thirds along the bank. “Keyshanpike most likely came about and tried to enter near as it could to us, but we travelled a fair way before coming to a full stop. The nearest channel is behind us.” Aelerin traced a blue channel with a finger, he noticed their nails were bitten down to almost nothing. “But that way, we are likely to run into Keyshanpike, so it is better that we make for this channel here, further up the bank.”
“And then we make our way out.”
“Ey, but not too fast, D’keeper. I think from the script on this – it is well faded – that the channels are freer of ice, but not completely.”
“Forward then,” said Joron and Tide Child began to move off, making his painstaking way through the ice. The night was long and stressful as they were, slowly and carefully, towed through the icefield, the world about them a cage of fuzzy lights. Joron found, during that long slow night, that talk of ghosts felt all too real and it was all he could do not to start at every odd sound in the darkness. As morning broke, he turned to find Mevans standing behind him, enveloped in a blanket of thick air.
“Ey?” said Joron.
“The topboy wanted to know how she should alert you if she sees something, she is loath to shout when we are trying to hide.”
“And wise to ask,” smiled Joron. “Though I doubt she will see much in this.” He held out his hands in the freezing mist.
“Bearna says that fog is low-lying in some places, and in the tops she sometimes gets glimpses much further out through the mist. Almost right over the bank.”
“Has she seen anything?”
“Big ice island two points of the for’ard shadow; she thought she saw the tops of another ship behind us an hour ago but it was dark and she could not be sure.”
“But she did not report it?”
“Did not want to come down, lest she miss it again. Did not want to shout for fear of alerting them.” He leaned in closer. “I think her decision canny, D’keeper, not one needing stripes.”
“Of course,” said Joron, and wondered how his crew’s opinion of him had changed that Mevans needed to tell him not to cord a deckchilder for making a good decision. Did he appear so hard now? “Find some small bone offcuts, Mevans, I am sure the bonewrights did not throw over everything they had. Bearna can drop them on the deck to get attention. Even if it is heard by another ship it will hopefully be taken as ice falling.”
“Ey, D’keeper.”
“Nothing too heavy, Mevans, I do not want one of my deckchilder’s heads dashed open for attention.”
“Of course not,” said Mevans, and vanished into the mist.
It felt almost as if time was suspended within the bank; the glass turned and the bell rang but it was curiously disconnected from the usual steady, repetitive running of the ship. Faces loomed out of the fog, oddly distended, caught mid-expression and made alien by the sudden lack of context. Tide Child moved slowly through the day, the only sound the splash of oars, the ship’s wings furled into black lines as the rowers strained in the flukeboat and the giant ice islands slowly passed them by. Sometimes Joron was not sure if the ship moved or if the islands did. He saw strange animals on the ice, unlike anything he had seen before, neither fish nor bird, fat and round with wide flat heads and covered in thick small feathers. The beasts watched Tide Child pass, curious as to what this strange creature was, and Joron wondered if they had ever seen such a thing as a ship before, and if they were good eating.
“Look!” He recognised the shout – Farys – and strode over to the mid rail where the sound had come from. He found her pointing out over the misty water, into the thick fog.
“Keep your voice down, Farys,” he hissed, “you are an officer, not an excitable stonebound on their first journey.”
“Ey, D’keeper, ’tis only what I saw surprised me so much.”
“And what did you see?”
“I thought it were a woman, I reckon, though a strange one. But the mist, it plays tricks.” He was about to tell her not to be foolish when the mist cleared again, and he saw something he had not expected. A row of small boats, no wing on them, and each one with a single oar in it. Up from them a group of strange people like no others he had ever seen. They were abnormally round, and he did not know if it were thanks to thick clothing, maybe made out of skins, or how they were made by the godbird. Each held a stick and he could hear them chattering to one another in a strange and guttural language.
“Ice men,” said Solemn Muffaz from beside him. “I came up here on the Wyrmtooth and the shipwife knew about them, fair unnatural they are. Let their men rule them and I do not know why the Hag lets them live.” One of the ice men raised the spear in his hand and ran forward, dancing backwards and forwards and shouting in his strange tongue.
“I do not mind them being unnatural,” said Joron, “but I wish they would be quiet.”
“Had we a gallowbow we could shut them right up.”
“Ey, but we do not. So we must hope no one is listening.” As Joron finished speaking the ice man launched his spear at Tide Child, though it fell fair short, and then the mist swallowed them up. “A belligerent bunch,” said Joron, “and I suspect, Farys, there is the answer to your ghosts and empty ships.” She nodded.
“D’keeper,” his name whispered as the courser appeared. “The water at the beak has changed, deeper and darker it is. I think we have found the channel.”
“At long last, this creeping along is no good for the nerves. Solemn Muffaz, Farys, get the deckchilder up the spines ready to unfurl the wings, and get the flukeboat ready to go in tow. When we hit the channel I intend to use more speed than is wise. Bring up the Gullaime too, I’ll want its wind in case we need to change direction suddenly.”
“Ey, D’keeper,” came back in unison.
Free at last, he thought. At last.
17
The Fog and the Ghosts
They did not move as quickly as Joron wished, the treacherous ice was too ever-present for that, and even this “clear channel” was no such thing. The hugest ice islands did not fill it right enough, bracketing the black ship as it cut through the water, but smaller chunks floated within the channel. Those deckchilder that were not lookouts for ice floating just below the surface were engaged in chipping off ice from the rigg
ing, deck, rails and wings. Extra topboys were put aloft, one on each spine rather than just the mainspine, and each of these given a mate to relay urgent messages. The Gullaime stood ready at the side, shivering miserably despite its heavy, colourful cloak, and refusing to speak to anyone. Only coming alive in those moments where it was required to help Tide Child veer off his path to avoid floating ice.
They saw more of the ice men, though these were less belligerent than the first they had seen, and only stood and watched as the ship passed. Joron wondered if they thought Tide Child some great beast, tamed and trained to carry women and men on its back. He did not know, would never know what they thought. Plainly they were not a people who would welcome his approach, and he did not intend to put his own people in harm’s way for no other reason than his own curiosity.
His hands were burning, as he had stood for so long gripping the landward rail that the thin sheen of ice had melted and refrozen around them. When he pulled them free it felt like he removed a layer of skin.
“D’keep.” He turned, found Larin, one of the topboy’s mates.
“Word from Bearna in the tops?”
“Ey,” said Larin, looking at the deck, unwilling to meet an officer’s eye. “Ship wising, D’keep,” she said, the deformation of her lip stopped her saying the letter “r”.
The cold within him matched the cold of his hands.
“She is sure?”
“Ey, D’keep,” she said. “Is diwect off the seawad side wight now.”
“It keeps pace with us?”
“No, D’keep.” She shook her head. “Ship is stopped, it is.”
“Stopped?”
“Ey, D’keep.” Joron looked around the deck, wondering why that would be. Did they wait for him? Did they somehow know they had got ahead and planned some trap? It made no sense.
“Has he seen us, Larin?”
“Beawna says there is no one in the tops.”
Joron waited, as if the air could give him some answer. Then made his way to the mainspine.
“Farys, slow Tide Child by half, you have the deck while I am in the tops.”
“Ey, D’keeper,” came the reply and then the deck was lost to him, swallowed by the swirling fog as he climbed the rigging, followed by Larin.
In the tops Bearna was waiting; without speaking she pointed out to seaward and Joron brought out his nearglass. Found the ship quickly enough, the tops floating above the mist between two huge ice islands, but a trick of the mist made it hard to be sure of distance.
“No one in the tops, D’keeper. Something is off, right?”
“Ey, it is,” he said, and closed up the nearglass, deep in thought. “Keep watching, send Larin down if there is any change.” Then he made his way down to the slate, to be once more wrapped in mist while trying to think of a reason why the ship pursuing them would come to a dead stop in the middle of the ice fields. By the time his bone spur hit the deck he had no more answers than when he had first spied the ship. “Mevans, Solemn Muffaz, Aelerin, and Jennil, come to me on the rump,” he said. “Farys, have the seaguard armed and bring weapons up on deck for the crew, then you join me also.” He stared out into the mist. “Full stop, and put out the seastay.” He ignored the puzzled looks of the deckchilder around him and walked to the rear of the ship, where some trick of the mist seemed to play him back the terrible sound of Beakwyrm’s Rage going over in the storm. When he was joined by those he had called he nodded to them. He felt a tightening of the tension on ship as the weapons were given out, like a rope under strain. He straightened his warm coat around himself, let out a breath of air in a puff of mist. “A ship is out there,” he said, “I can only think it is Keyshanpike.”
“And yet we stop,” said Jennil.
“Keyshanpike is stopped, and has no one in the tops.”
“Ghosts,” said Farys.
“Enough of that,” said Joron, voice as cold as the air.
“We should take advantage,” said Solemn Muffaz. “If he is foolish enough to stop and post no lookouts we can take him.”
“Strange that he stops though,” said Mevans.
“Ey,” said Joron, “I thought that. Now I try to think of a reason why he would.”
“You think there is an ambush ahead?” said Jennil. “Is that why you have armed the crew?”
“I think it is a possibility,” said Joron. “But you are all knowledgeable of the sea, so I ask for other possibilities.”
“An ambush makes most sense,” said Jennil.
“But no one in the tops,” said Joron, more to the air than those gathered.
“Could have hit ice,” said Solemn Muffaz. “Most likely has the crew working in the hull to stop them sinking.”
“But no one in the tops,” said Joron, more to the air than those gathered.
“Mutiny,” said Mevans. “Weak shipwife and fear of the ghosts.”
“But no one in the tops,” said Joron, more to the air than those gathered.
It made no sense, to leave a ship unguarded so. Joron could tell no one but he was haunted by the loss of Beakwyrm’s Rage, by the loss of so many in such a way. In battle he had no qualms about taking life, but to see that great ship upset by the power of the sea and to do nothing felt wrong somehow. If some calamity had also befallen Keyshanpike and he could help then he felt he should. To leave the crew stranded here in the freezing mist did not sit well. Perhaps if they were stricken and he helped, then the officers of Keyshanpike, in the spirit of cooperation, might give up information of Meas to him; and if not, he was sure they would do what honour required and give him a head start, as if he had never stopped. Maybe offer him supplies. He knew it was more sensible to simply carry on, leave the ship to its fate, but some deep-seated core within him, that boy who had listened in awe to his father’s stories of the fleet and the honourable behaviour of the best shipwives, would not let him. “I would know more of what has happened,” he said, “if for no other reason than what befell them may befall us. Solemn Muffaz, put a thin rope on the flukeboat, so it does not get lost and if needs be we can haul it back.” He wanted to go himself, to get sight of this mystery, but knew he could not stray so far from his ship with the crew so jittery and talk of ghosts still among them. “Mevans, take a small crew and get sight on Keyshanpike, nothing more, no matter what you see. Then return here and tell me all you can.”
“Ey, D’keeper,” he said, and left to make preparation.
“And the rest of us?” said Farys.
“Well,” he said, “we have little to do but wait.”
And the waiting was always the hardest part: first to wait while the flukeboat vanished from vision, then wait while the gentle splash of its oars was swallowed up by the mist and then there was only the lap of water against the hull and the bite of the cold against his skin.
Time.
Time slowly passing with little regard for feelings. Time felt no discomfort, anxiety or worry. Time was little more than a slow tyrant whom they all must obey.
So Joron stood on the rump and watched the sand go through the glass, and he walked up and down the ship while his crew did their jobs with what enthusiasm they could muster in the sharp and freezing air, for they all felt it. The strangeness. That a ship should stop in the middle of a chase was odd enough, that it should post no lookouts even stranger. Usually, his crew would simply work on, he knew them as a fleet and steady lot. But talk of ghosts had spread cold and clammy hands over them, and they were not as the women and men he knew. Wide-eyed and wary they worked and he wondered if he had that same look, if his dark skin was a shade paler with cold and fear of the unknown.
And all he could do was wait.
All they could do was wait.
Eventually, time passed as time does and he heard, with much relief, the gentle splash of oars. Then saw Mevans emerge from the mist at the beak of the flukeboat, gently gathering up the line attached to the front of it so as not to foul the small ship. When it bumped against the serrated sides
of Tide Child Mevans was quick off the mark, up the side of the ship and over to the rump of the deck, where Joron stood, looking as calm as he could and not at all like a man desperate for news.
“D’keeper.”
“Report please, Mevans,” he said.
“Were a most curious thing, D’keeper,” said Mevans. “We approached the Keyshanpike, and when we got close the mist vanished, like they had gullaime set to keeping the area around the ship clear. So I took the flukeboat off around the sides of this clear part, I did, not wanting to be seen. And so I found an ice island where we moored the boat and old Anglan and I made our way to the top of the isle, fair hard going that were.”
“And?”
“Well, we saw some of them ice men but it turns out when they’re close up they are not ones for a fight, and as soon as they saw us they made for their little boats and were gone into the mist. So we reached the top of the isle and had a right good view of Keyshanpike, the mist being thinner higher and all, and with that strange clear patch about it – though the clear patch I am sure were getting smaller.”
“And what is your report, Mevans?” The smaller man grinned at him, for he knew that Joron knew how much he liked to talk, and Joron, like the shipwife before him, was wont to indulge Mevans in that love of talking, for few aboard the ship were as respected and liked as Mevans.
“I do not right know what to make of it, D’keeper.” He reached up and scratched at a louse bite on his bald head under the heavy hood. “Keyshanpike were at his staystone there, but he were all outfitted for war, wings furled and sand across the deck.”
“To be expected, Mevans, they were hunting us.”
“Well, ey. But also their bows were untrussed, and strung too. And no one keeps a gallowbow under tension for any length of time for it ruins the cord, as you well know and like to tell us. Worse in weather like this of course.” Joron nodded, willing the smaller man to get on with it. “But D’keeper,” he said, and it was difficult not to get the impression Mevans was relishing the telling of the tale, “there were not a woman or man on the slate. Not a one. And I sat there for long enough to get my arse numb on the ice, listening, for a ship can never be truly silent. I heard nothing. As far as I could tell the ship was empty.”