by D Murray
Tempest
Crene had not been lying when he said he was the youngest of the skeleton crew left at Grantvik’s Bay. The two additional members aiding Kalfinar made for sorry viewing. Alongside Crene, the experienced seamen numbered three. Of the three seamen, the functional eyes numbered four, and the present legs numbered five. One of the new crew was named Hallof the Peg, for the obvious reason. His wooden leg was painted in a gaudy caricature of a fish, bright scales painted up the wooden limb. The second crewman, Dernis the Spear, was a massive old man, still broad across the back, but with his left eye missing and replaced with an ugly mottled scar. It was said that in his youth, there was no man who could match Dernis for both the distance thrown, or the accuracy of his harpoon work. The two old sailors both required Valus to lay her hands upon them so as to convince them of their endeavour’s merit. As with Crene, once the gravity of the situation was revealed, the two men conceded, and committed to the voyage.
They left Grantvik’s Bay on the noon tide, and with some practised navigation from Crene they managed to skirt along the edges of the coast for the first day. The next morning the wind shifted direction and eased the swell. Crene adjusted their bearing and exchanged the rock-strewn waters closer to shore with the heavy seas of the White Swell. Fragmented blocks of ice travelled on the peaks and troughs of the foamy waves, occasionally crashing against the metal-plated bow of the ship.
“You ever hit a big one?” Kalfinar asked as the ship crashed through another wave.
“What? Iceberg or waves?” Crene said, his old swollen hands gripping tight to the wheel. His flesh was chapped red. The old man wore no gloves, despite the freezing, damp air.
“Either, I suppose?” Kalfinar replied, gripping firmly to the rope rail beside the wheel. He looked at his own hands, wrapped up in sealskin mittens and gripping the ice-covered railing.
“Had both,” the old sailor replied, his grin broad and not entirely sane to Kalfinar’s mind. “Been shipwrecked once or twice. You can’t see most of them bergs when they're afloat like that. Could be large and ragged 'neath the waterline. Learned that the hard way as a youngster. Been swamped by waves more often than not.”
“So you’re used to this?” Kalfinar knew the answer as soon as he asked.
Crene glared at him with his one good eye. It bulged at him incredulously. “We don’t sail the Swell in winter. Wouldn’t say I’m used to this, no.”
“Aye,” Kalfinar mumbled.
“Berg ahead!” the ragged old voice of Dernis the Spear cried out from the prow.
“There you go, Woakie is listening to you,” Crene said with a crooked smile, showing his yellow-stained teeth. Those that remained in his old head.
Kalfinar looked up to where Dernis stood at the prow, peering forward. “Who’s Woakie?” Kalfinar asked.
Crene croaked a dry laugh. “Woakie is your friend and your enemy, your lover and your bane. She will bring you your joy and your fear. She is the sea, and she listens to your every word.”
Kalfinar turned back towards where Crene stood at the wheel. “You named the sea?”
“Not me. The Syokystan people of the north coast.”
“Who?”
“Natives to the coast, the ones I said may help you get to where you need. Come out of Hagra. Called Night Reapers down in Solansia. Not very fair a name if you ask me. Good folk. They call themselves the Maracost people. Helped me and my crew out once as a youngster when we got stuck in the ice over a winter. They brought us food, taught us to hunt. The Maracost kept us alive. Picked up a bit of their tongue that winter, learned a bit about them. Picked up a bit more than that and all.” The old man laughed and looked up at Kalfinar, the brow arching over his good eye. “They told me they worshiped a sea god. She was named Woakie. So, send her a prayer, and ask her to be kind, because believe me, she looks to be in foul form today.” Crene stared ahead, turning the wheel one quarter turn to the left.
“The Syokystan,” Kalfinar mumbled aloud.
“Didn’t want to mention it to you before, but they’re the same as the people the Lihedan woman showed me. The same, but not the same. They’re good people.”
They’re Ravenmayne. Kalfinar looked back towards Dernis and saw the man at the prow was directing the turns of the wheel, his long left arm pointing out with one finger extended from his fist.
“He guides you?”
“Aye. You’ll need to learn. The old bastard up there can’t lead the way more than an hour without needing a shit. His bowels have been warped ever since he went in the water twenty years ago. Pulled in by a white whale.”
“A finger per quarter turn?” Kalfinar asked.
“Aye. Four for full turn. Open five on the hand for two full turns.”
“What about if more turns are needed, or if the fog’s in?” Kalfinar asked, watching Dernis extend a second finger.
“Tends to be a bit of shouting at that point. Until then, we save our throats a while,” Crene said with a casual tone as he worked the wheel with gentle turns. “You best go check that. That one eye of his ain’t that strong. Drinks any spirit he can get. Reckon he’s mostly blind.” Crene croaked a dry old laugh. “Like me.”
“Need another bucket!” Broden clutched at his stomach and groaned. He sat doubled over on one of the small beds bolted along the side of the cabin as it tilted and creaked, then lurched as the ship played on the waves.
“Here.” Valus handed the bucket to Broden, who placed it between his knees and then retched into the musty vessel. A thin string of bile and saliva was all he could spend, his stomach empty.
Broden wiped at his mouth with the back of his hand and groaned. “This is shit.”
Valus sat down beside Broden and rested her hand on the big man’s thigh. “Have you ever thought that perhaps this is just in your mind?”
Broden looked at the woman. She had a genuine and honest look about her, but that only served to irritate him. “Of course I’ve thought this was in my bloody mind. I’m not stupid enough to think this is anything but in my mind. I hate the water, pretty much always have, and fair sure I always will. So why don’t you just let me die the death I’m right ways on to dying now. Dajda!” he exclaimed, and then bent over and heaved once more into the bowl. He felt Valus’ hand lift from his thigh. “Sorry,” Broden groaned. The word sounded strange with his head in the bucket, and although the wooden vessel smelled of foul water and mould, or worse, he was now embarrassed at his childish outburst. She was only trying to help.
“This might hurt a little,” he heard Valus saying from in front of him. He felt a hand rest on the back of his head.
“What might h—” A hot pain flashed through his body, from the back of his skull to his feet. Bright white light seemed to flare and then disappear before his shut eyes, subsiding with the dissipation of the pain. Broden shot up to his feet, dropping the bucket to the wooden floor, where it bounced once and then rolled in a half circle on its side. “What in the hells did you do to me?” He looked at the smiling woman before him. He blinked, and began to feel unsteady on his feet. He stepped back, and dropped down onto the bed with a loud creak. “Feel a bit dizzy,” he mumbled, blinking to get the bright spots away from his eyes.
“You will. A while, anyway,” Valus said in a calm voice as she sat down beside him. “You’ll feel better for this, of that I’m sure. I can’t say if it will cure you of your fear. But the sickness should ease after a time.”
“Thank you,” Broden slurred. His eyes felt heavy, and his head seemed drawn towards the flea-bitten pillow.
“Lie down. Sleep.” Valus’ soothing voice sounded by his side.
He gave in, and rested his head on the pillow. He closed his eyes.
Kalfinar’s face was battered by the stinging salt spray and the tiny particles of ice in the wind. He raised his arm to shield his face and tried to stare into the waves before him.
“Pocket,” Dernis shouted beside him. “Look in the pocket.”
“
What?” Kalfinar shouted over the howling wind. He looked across at the old man and realised he’d slid a strip of sealskin with two thin horizontal slits over his eyes, or his eye, at least.
“Ice shields.” Dernis pointed at the strip covering the area between his forehead and nose, then pointed to the front pocket of the sealskin parka.
Kalfinar turned his back to the cruel wind, widening his feet to steady himself, and fished his hands about in either side of the large fur-lined space that made up the pocket of the parka. He felt the ice shields and pulled them free. It was a single hoop of seal hide. Short fur lined the outer side, and soft leather the inner. Kalfinar pushed back the hood of his parka and pulled the ice shields over his wind-blown hair. Although a little tight, he managed to place the two thin slits over his eyes and then pulled his hood back over his head. He turned back towards the prow and faced into the wind. The difference was incredible. The stinging particles of ice blown into his eyes by the worsening evening wind must now have been caught by the fur, or unable to squeeze past the slits above his eyes. Although thin, the slits afforded enough of a view for Kalfinar to scan the area before the ship.
“You good?” Dernis shouted beside him.
“Aye!” Kalfinar shouted, nodding.
“Good! Hook yourself on to this.” The older man unbuckled the broad oiled-leather belt fixed about his waist and linked to the prow rail by a thick rope. “Keep an eye ahead,” he shouted, pointing his long arm out towards the darkening sky and black and white waves of the sea. “I’ll be back in a moment.”
The wind and stinging rain buffeted Kalfinar’s face, chilling the exposed skin and sending a violent shiver through his body. There was no visible horizon, just the roiling blackness of the sea, lined with fizzing white swells rising up and down. The dark grey clouds rose tall from the waves, spreading a broad canvas of mottled dark bruise-like colours. Kalfinar’s guts twisted as he observed the maelstrom before him. Is that a berg? A large and ragged shape of topaz appeared to glide down the face of a tall wave, not dissipating as the rest of the wave caps appeared to do. The realisation dawned on him. It was a berg. Shit! “Left!” he roared as loud as he could. He turned back towards the wheel and saw Crene, his face straining towards the front of the ship. Kalfinar stabbed an arm out to the left, five fingers full extended. He repeated the motion two more times and roared aloud again.
The message was received. Crene sent the wheel spinning and the ship lurched to the left, sending Kalfinar crashing towards the rail on the starboard side. The rope-and-leather belt about his waist pulled tight, arresting his tumble, but his feet slipped on the deck, causing him to fall and smack his head against the wood with a thump. “Fuck!” He felt stinging in his eye and saw red droplets begin to fall onto the brine-slick wood of the deck, spiralling and whorling in the surface water. He pulled a gloved hand away from the side of his head and saw a stain of blood on the sealskin. “Fuck's sake.”
The ship lurched down into the trough of a wave, sending Kalfinar rolling forwards towards the prow. Crashing into the bottom of the trough, Kalfinar found himself momentarily upside down, feet above his head, before falling onto his side. He managed to get onto his knees, holding tight to the rail of the prow. He strained and hauled himself onto his feet with unsteady arms. He scanned the wild sea before him for the berg. Oily green-black wedges of wave followed the battering orders of the wind. Kalfinar sighted the topaz shard of an exposed point sliding past the starboard side with a goodly distance to spare.
“Good spot!” Crene’s ragged old voice could be heard above the whistle and howl of the wind, and the clattering of the hail and rain against the oiled outer of the sealskin parka Kalfinar wore.
Kalfinar turned to the old seaman and waved a hand, mumbling to himself, “Woakie mustn’t be a big fan of what we’ve had to say.” Lightning flashed in the sky, causing Kalfinar to turn back towards the prow. The heavy rumble of thunder sounded an instant after the flash, and Kalfinar felt a subtle change to the wind. Lightning flashed again, lighting the dark grey clouds in a furious palette of purple and brown. “Doesn’t look good,” he mumbled to himself as the thunder boomed again. The flash lit the sky once more as the rain began to fall hard. “Not good at all.”
“What?” Kalfinar shouted, feeling the rawness in his throat as his roar was swallowed up by the screaming wind. There was no way Crene could hear him. There was no way Kalfinar could hear Crene. He watched as the old sailor motioned towards him. Is he telling me to get away from the prow?
A dozen or so other forms of Kalfinar’s troops could be seen at various stages of panic aboard the deck. One of the city guards was hunkered behind a large fish box, his knees tight about his chest, his chin on his knees, and his arms woven about some rope to keep him in place. The man’s face was screwed up tight with fear, his eyes shut and his jaw clenched.
Dernis the Spear shambled onto the deck, looking back at Crene and then fighting his way towards the prow, clinging on to the rail, then to the slick steps, eventually making it to Kalfinar as the ship met the crest of the wave and pitched forward. Both men hunkered down, clinging tight to the bow rail.
“What did he say?” Kalfinar roared to Dernis.
“Get below!”
“Below?” Dernis nodded and grabbed the buckle of the leather belt that fastened Kalfinar to the prow.
“When we’re in the trough, run for it,” the older man mouthed.
Kalfinar nodded and peered out over the prow. The ship travelled fast towards the black trough of the wave. “Shit.” The ship righted itself, and Dernis released the buckle.
“Now!” the old harpoonist roared, his ragged voice sounding just above the wind.
Kalfinar ran across the deck, his initial steps faltering as his boot soles failed to make purchase on the brine-slick deck. He grabbed hold of what he could, and made it towards the guardsman. He thought he saw Ferdus coming aboard deck, his dark eyes darting about the chaos up top, then he was gone again. Dernis was out of sight. “Come on!” Kalfinar roared into the face of the shocked man. He shook his shoulder, and the guardsman opened his eyes, showing the bloodshot white of them, and no small amount of terror too.
“No!” The man’s lips parted in what must have been a mumble.
Kalfinar slapped him, the back of his glove connecting with a solid thwack. “Get up, soldier.” The ship pitched to the port side as something crashed into the boat. Kalfinar lost his balance from where he crouched, and tumbled towards the port rail. He rolled and rolled, eventually coming to rest against the rail itself. The ship groaned with loud wooden creaks as the angle of the sky above shifted. The ship's rolling! Kalfinar felt a hot stab of panic in his guts, and he scrambled to his feet with some trouble before taking three long strides and throwing himself towards where the guardsman was hiding, bound up in the ropes. The man was weeping, making the oddest sound as he howled. Kalfinar bowled into him with a gush of air from his lungs. He wove his arms about the rope as quick as possible, snaking around the rough hemp, and waited. Waited for the ship to roll fully into the sea.
I’m sorry, my love. He saw Evelyne’s face before him. Saw her brush the shiny strands of her hair behind her ear. Saw her in that awful caged wagon. I failed you. The ship made a sound so loud it was like a death wail over the howling wind. The sea was driving up towards him, or they were racing down towards it. It felt like all sense of direction was lost for a moment, and then the sea ceased its travel. The ship shuddered with a chorus of groaning, cracking wood, screaming voices, and roaring water. The ship paused and then rolled towards starboard, the powdery black sky shifting around and back above them, where it should be. A sheet of water slid across the deck, port to starboard, carrying with it a motley array of buckets, scrubbing brushes, a shoe, and several of the sodden crew.
“Help!” one of the tumbling bodies yelped as he rolled towards Kalfinar.
Kalfinar freed an arm as the man came his way. The ship lurched now to the port side, tipping wit
h the waves and sending the debris and fumbling crew back to where they had come from. Kalfinar slid until his one bound arm was pulled tight, and strained against his own weight and the draw of the rolling ship. He gritted his teeth and pulled with all his strength, managing just to get a hold of the rope as the black-green basin of the sea came up to meet the ship once again.
“I don’t want to die!” the volunteer guardsman cried beside Kalfinar. “I don’t want to–”
Kalfinar roared, his feet now dangling freely as the sea swept over the port side. He could see one of the troops had been carried into the sea and under the wave, just before the ship lurched back and began to right itself. The awful groan of wood sounded again, then the blubbering cry of the frightened soldier to Kalfinar’s left.
“Dajda, save us!” someone roared aloud from behind Kalfinar, causing him to look up towards the prow. A wall of black water of an impossible scale stood primed and rage-filled above the ship. It looked every inch like the world was about to crash down on them.
“Take us home, Woakie.” An old ragged voice could be heard from the direction of the wheel. It was Crene’s voice. “Take us home, but spare these poor fools!”
The wall of black water fell in on itself and rushed down towards the ship, a crest of white horses crashing down to carry the ship to Woakie’s great, dark lair. Kalfinar felt the freezing air surge towards them, his eyes fixed on the water, hands gripping tight to the ropes about him. A heat rose about his face, despite the cold. “Do what I do,” he shouted to the guardsman beside him. “It will stretch your breath in the water.” He sucked in breath after breath, blowing it off quick and in again. The ship creaked and groaned, Crene laughed like a madman, the guardsman wailed, and Kalfinar watched. He watched as the mountain of black water crashed down, down, down into them.
Something hit Kalfinar so hard that the breath was blown out of his lungs. Ice cold gripped him.