The Voyages of Trueblood Cay

by Suanne Laqueur

  “I’m with you to the end,” Fen said. “As soon as you go, I’m coming after you. There’s no place you can hide where I won’t find you. Not in this life or the next.”

  He sat, a courteous and patient witness. Dying with Trueblood every miserable step of the way. Watching as the venom worked its way through Trueblood’s soul, eating all the joy and pleasure and happiness and leaving only the razor-sharp bones of wretchedness behind.

  Over and over, the mariner watched his mother die. He always claimed he didn’t remember the day but Misery found it, hidden away in the folds of his brain. Misery pried it free and scrapped with it like a dog with a bone. Gnawing on the minotaurs killing Noë Treeblood and her unborn child while little Pelippé watched from his hiding place in a wardrobe.

  “Mami,” Trueblood cried. He wept it, screamed it, called for her incessantly, Mami, Mami.

  Misery finally tired of toying with Noë and went looking for something else to chew. Trueblood’s body began to shake in an odd, rhythmic pattern. A measured tremble through his limbs with a thudding grunt in his chest. As if he were being…

  Beaten, Fen realized, helpless to do anything but watch as Trueblood bent over bare-assed in the looping fugue of his mind, taking the blows from his commander’s strap. Punished for disrespect in front of his crew. Tasting the shitty tang of his father’s disappointment. Over and over and over…

  When that memory doubled back on itself, it curled around Kepten True’s death. Then it seemed the entire ship’s heart would break, that every joint and board and nail and peg would lose its mind.

  Fen agonized over his ringos, first wanting it on Trueblood’s hand because Fen belonged to him. “I’m yours,” the kheiron whispered. “Not your slave, not your subordinate, not your possession but yours.”

  Then the desperation would reverse and Fen put the ringos back on his own finger, needing to spread his wings and cover Trueblood’s body because he belonged to Fen and no one else. The whisper swelled into an angry lament: “He’s mine. You can’t have him. You took everything else from me. My dam. My youth. My body. My father. I let you have all of it now leave me alone with him. You don’t get to have this, don’t you fucking dare, please…”

  The ringos went back and forth. His voice rose and fell. He didn’t move from his spot next to the bed. He didn’t know if the Kaleuche was sailing or still caught in a dead calm. He had no idea what was going on above deck. A steward brought trays and set them down without speaking. Fen put things in his mouth and chewed but had no awareness of what he was eating. Melki loyally brought mugs of hot water and kyhrr and Fen drank them because he could do nothing else. He dipped a finger in the tea and brushed it over Trueblood’s lips. He rubbed his hands along the walls of the nyellem, then brought them to Trueblood’s face.

  Take this cure.

  Take this reward.

  “Take him into your merciful heart,” he begged the scented darkness. “But don’t take him away from me. Please.”

  Day after long day, Trueblood witnessed murder and mayhem. Bent over for the lash and disappointed his father, then watched him die. Fen rubbed the walls until his fingers were raw and brought the scent of spice to his kepten, because it was all he could do.

  And I’ll do it until the end.

  I’m with you until the end.

  “Maybe we should take him out of here,” Dhar said.

  “It seems to help him,” Fen said.

  “That’s what I mean.” Dhar stared at his feet. “It would make it go quicker.”

  Fen seized the first thing he saw and threw it at Dhar’s head, roaring at him to get out. Later, he broke his vigil at Trueblood’s bedside, went above and found the sail master.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered, legs trembling so badly they buckled. “I’m so sorry.”

  “Lad, my heart’s breaking for you.” Dhar caught him up tight, pulling Fen’s head on his shoulder. Raj moved in on one side, Lejo on the other. The minoros crowded in. Beniv and Calvo. Galley boys and coopers and carpenters and stewards and sail makers. Until the entire crew sprawled on the deck, weeping, apologizing and forgiving. Praying and pleading and begging one another, the gods, the ocean, the sky, anything.

  Give him back to us.

  Only Abrakam wasn’t there. He was holed up in his cabin, combing every book, every scroll and tome and volume, searching for answers. Taking the world’s knowledge apart to see if anything had come even close to the power of Nye to cure the bite of Misery.

  Fen knelt with a hand on the main mast, then put both arms around it and hugged its immutable, ironbound strength. The lark flew in to perch on Fen’s arm, give one sad peck at the mast, then raise her voice in a mournful dirge.

  Fen looked up at the moon and prayed to its secret side.

  Please, he thought. Humos, take my kepten into your merciful heart.

  Give him back to me.

  “Fen,” Abrakam cried across the deck. “Fenros, come here now.”

  Fen stirred at the base of the main mast. He’d fallen asleep against it, a prayer half-finished in his mouth. Cold and cramped, he got up and followed the centaur back down to the nyellem.

  “Look,” Abrakam said. He peeled a square of linen off one of the wounds on Trueblood’s back. The mariner cried out as it pulled free, bringing with it a chunk of…

  Flesh? Fen thought, swallowing hard against the gorge in his throat. No. It was solid and opaque, like weathered glass. Brown-gold closest to the linen, then tapering down into delicate, yellow-green tendrils. As if Abrakam had somehow cast a little sculpture from the mold of the wound.

  “What is that?” Fen said.

  “Kyrrh. Last night, I packed a wound full of it, to see what would happen. When I went to look under the dressing, it all came out like this. Rock-hard with the poison solidified. So I tried it again. It works, Fen. The misery adheres to the kyrrh. Bonds to it. Look at the wound.”

  The other lacerations on Trueblood’s back bubbled, but the kyrrh-treated gash was quiet at the edges and clean within.

  “Gods,” Fen said, already moving toward the door. “I’ve got more in my cabin. I’ll get it.”

  “No, Fen,” the centaur said. “This was yours.”

  Fen stared. “All of it?”

  “All of it.”

  Fen closed his eyes. A chunk of kyrrh the length and width of his thumb. Shaved with a razor, it could last a lifetime. It took the entire thing to cleanse two small wounds. Dozens still remained.

  “We need more,” he said.

  “A lot more.”

  Silence as both he and the centaur visualized their predicament. The ship bobbed in a dead calm somewhere in the Northeast Sea. An entire continent lay between them and the one place on earth kyrrh was found.

  Fen had flown across that continent once before. Weak and malnourished with a human child on his back. Sheltering from the desert suns in crumbling caravanserais. Living off stagnant well water and figs.

  Twenty years had passed. The memory should’ve long faded away.

  But some things you never forgot.

  And everything happens for a reason.

  “I’ll go,” he said. “I’ll fly to Altynai and get more.” He ran a hand through his hair, thinking what he’d need to bring with him this time. “Get the twins. Dhar, Beniv and Calvo, too. I’ll be up in a minute.”

  Abrakam left the nyellem. Fen knelt down and slid his ringos off Trueblood’s finger.

  “You hold on, hear me? I’m coming back. And when I do, we’re talking about this.” He pressed his lips to the kepten’s damp brow. “I’ll see you later.” He kissed him again. “I’ll talk to you later.”

  As he straightened up, he felt a tug at his leg. Trueblood’s fingers closed around a bit of his breeches, holding on. His knuckles flashed white with effort, then his hand went limp again.

 
“A fucking moonstone would come in handy here,” Fen said. “You can carry more as a horse.”

  “Hold still,” Dhar said. He and Beniv were furiously sewing, constructing a sack to ride on Fen’s chest, without its straps getting in the way of his wings. Calvo and Seven were packing it with provisions. Fen craned his neck past them to look at the map Raj was drawing at the table. His fingers shook around the pen, his entire body clenched with the effort. Lejo sat close by, his side wedged tight against Raj’s, trying to hold them together.

  Their strength always lay in the space between them, Fen thought. I can picture Raj without Lejo. Or Lejo without Raj. But there’s no Ĝemelos without Trueblood.

  His eyes slid around the dark concentration on each crew member. Seven, red-eyed and determined as he packed food for Fen. Somewhere back in Nyland, a mother was cooking dinner, not knowing two of her sons were dead.

  Trueblood has no son. If he dies, this giantship has no kepten at the helm. House Tru dies with him and the Kaleuche has no giantsblood to sail her.

  I have to come back.

  A tiny clatter as the pen fell from Raj’s fingers. He and Lejo stared at nothing, their twinned gaze empty and lethargic.

  “Raj.” Fen reached past Lejo and took the pilot by the shoulders. “Raj. Look at me.” He shook the pilot hard, until he pulled from Fen’s grip with a sharp inhale through his nose.

  “We’d go with you if we could,” he said, with so much strange regret in his voice, Fen prickled with dread.

  “I know,” Fen said. “But you need to go down to the nyellem and lie with him while I’m gone. You understand? Put him between you and keep him there. Don’t follow where he goes this time. You and Lejo make him stay. You’re the only ones who can.”

  Lejo lifted up his head then. “Kyrrh comes at a price.”

  “It didn’t when Kepten True rescued me.”

  “That was before the Truviad stones were found,” Lejo said. “Things are happening, Fen.”

  “Happening for a reason,” Raj said. “Falling into place the way they’re supposed to.”

  “I have a feeling kyrrh won’t be gifted this time. Not for all the love in the world.”

  “What price, then?” Fen said. “How much?”

  “The Altyns will ask for what you love. Their currency is something you hold dear.”

  “We’ll all pay,” Beniv said behind them.

  Fen turned. Beniv and Calvo were pulling off their matching rings, given by each to the other and worn for over twenty-five years. With a delicate clink they were set in Fen’s palm, gold against silver.

  Dhar was next. He’d been born encauled—emerging within an intact birth sac. Since ancient times, the dried caul was believed to protect sailors from drowning. Dhar always had it near him. Now he gave it up.

  Seven gave over his necklace of shark teeth. Then he added Eleven’s carving knife with the mother of pearl handle, and Sixten’s fingerless gloves that protected his hands from rope burn. “I think it’s what they would’ve given,” he said.

  “I know it is,” Fen said. “You knew them best.”

  Word spread quickly, and one by one, every crew member gave up a little treasure. Even Abrakam, who offered the book full of gelang illustrations.

  “What?” he said to the twins’ stunned look. “You think you were the first to discover the world’s greatest bedtime story?” Shaking his head, he smoothed the book’s cover and added it to Fen’s sack. “Gods, it hurts to let it go. But maybe Zornin will enjoy it.”

  Melki threw arms around Fen, his young body nearly contorting to hold the tears in. “You’re my most treasured thing,” he said. “I don’t have anything else.”

  Fen had to fight hard to keep it together. “I’m coming back,” he said, a hand spread wide on the boy’s head. “I’m coming back and you’re going to tell this tale to your grandchildren. I promise.”

  The Ĝemelos were likewise empty-handed. Their greatest treasure lay dying in the nyellem. They offered Fen gelango and the friends held each other tight, three heads pressed in a triangle.

  “You can do this,” Raj said. “Only you can do this.”

  “Follow your heart,” Lejo said. “Your heart knows what to do and the way to go.”

  The boatswain, the pilot and the kheiron walked out of the aftercastle on deck, where they stopped short. The Kaleuche was surrounded by the pegasos flight, nine steeds circling the masts. Or rather, eight. The ninth was a mare’s shadow. The sun shone through her, refracting from black into shades of dark purple. She touched soundlessly down on the afterdeck and her aubergine wings shuddered to stillness.

  “Salu, Mami,” Fen said, going up the stairs. “Are you coming with me?”

  My one, I’ve always been with you.

  He held still as she bent her head toward and through his shoulder, and her love flowed into him.

  “Mysire,” a new voice said behind him. Fen turned and the copper mare from Aybar tossed her black mane.

  “You again,” he said.

  Her golden eyes blinked. “I wanted to see a kheiron in his natural habitat.”

  Fen had to laugh. It was either that or go horseshit crazy. “My friend Raj will kill me if I don’t get your name this time.”

  “Darea.”

  “It’s good to see you again.”

  Are you ready, Tehvani… The way Zoria said his khenom was nearly perfect. Which was why il-Kheir had loved her so.

  “I’m ready,” he said.

  I could, legantos, write a separate book about Fen’s second flight across the desert. If you ask nicely, maybe I will. For this story, the destination is more important than the journey, although certain things beg mentioning.

  The pegasos formed a loose phalanx with four on a side. Darea flew immediately to Fen’s fivehand, where he was struck by her colors. She was the exact shade of copper as the tips of Trueblood’s plaits. When she turned her sleek head and looked directly at Fen, her gaze was the same giantsblood topaz.

  Zoria flew in front of Fen. The stars twinkled straight through her body and wings, yet her spectral presence blocked the strong headwinds and let Fen draft in the lee of her love. When he stopped to sleep through the heat of day, it was her wings shading him from the punishing sun.

  Night fell and he took to the skies again, flying like a small treasure in the cupped palm made by nine winged horses. In their slipstream he crossed the Altyn range, at which point the eight flanking steeds peeled off. Darea made an extra spiral around Fen. Her golden gaze seemed to be memorizing him.

  “Thank you for coming with me,” Fen said.

  “It’s an honor.” She flew away, leaving just the kheiron and his mother’s spirit over the Old Forest.

  Caracaros circled them at a distance as they flew past the tree where Fen crashed two decades ago. The ropes and pulleys set up by Kepten True still in place.

  One day, I’ll bring Pé here, Fen thought. I’ll show him what his father did for me. Stories with pictures are the ones Pé likes best.

  The Altyn range was a trove of gold and gemstones, but one particular peak pulsed with a vein of garnets. The cave within was called Koromontos, the heart of the mountain, and here lived the Altyn headman, Zornin, with his clan.

  The firelight bounced off facets, splashed back cherry and dazzled ruby. The cave squeezed Fen tight in its fist, making the blood pound hard at his temples. Every time he glanced up at the polished walls, he saw his own distorted reflection, bathed red like he was doused in wine.

  Beside him sat Sorĉi, the Altyn witch. She was thin as a husk, more wrinkles than flesh. Her eyes were milky white and sightless, yet her voice cut like a newly-honed sword when she ran her hands over Fen and declared he looked better than the last time she saw him.

  “Thank you for what you did that day,” Fen said.

  The old woman snorte
d. “You didn’t come here to show gratitude for past deeds, kheiron.”

  “I came for Kepten True’s son. But I’d be remiss if I didn’t at least acknowledge that I owe you my life.”

  “You were needed,” she said, but before Fen could push at the cryptic statement, Zornin asked for his story.

  Fen told of Misery’s attack on the Kaleuche and how Trueblood’s life now hinged on kyrrh.

  “We gave it willingly when you were a foalboy,” Zornin said. “But kyrrh can only be gifted once. What you need today comes at a price.”

  “As expected,” Fen said. “I and the crew are willing to trade.”

  He watched as the Altyns picked through his treasure. A ship’s ransom for the life of their kepten.

  “A pretty trove,” one of them said. “Much that is dear. But little that has power.”

  Zornin grunted, turning the pages of the gelang book.

  “That comes with Abrakam’s compliments,” Fen said.

  The Altyn closed the book and slid it inside his tunic. “Is this all?”

  “No,” Sorĉi said. “He’s got much more.”

  Fen drew in a breath. He was ready.

  “I’ll give you my moonstone,” he said. “I don’t have it with me and Zornin can attest to why. He was there when the Truviad stones were translated. He knows the stone is in the hands of the tree-tenders. If you’ll take it in trade for enough kyrrh to save Trueblood, I’ll send a falcon immediately to my father and Naria Nyland, telling them it’s yours when all this is done.”

  The silence screamed in his ears. Nobody moved a sinew. Even the fire was quiet.

  “And if your price includes my ringos,” Fen said, “you can have that, too. The stones said I’d have to begin and end as Khe did. As a man bound to earth.” He swallowed and tried to smile as he met Zornin’s gaze. “I’ll be at peace if it ends up on an Altyn’s hand. Because you all saved my life.”