by Mike Truk
The Bonegwayne drew ever closer, but it was a gradual process, and soon Havatier was wheezing where he stood, the gale growing fitful. We were but a half mile from the ship when the wind died away altogether and his head slumped down, his whole body draped across the steering wheel as if he were to be broken upon it.
“Kellik?” Cerys’ voice. “What’s wrong?”
“Havatier,” I hissed, giving him a shake. “Wake up! We’re almost there.”
“Aye,” he said, rousing himself, eyes bleary. “Where’s that flask?”
I pressed it into his hand and he drained it, drinking the alcohol as if it were water, then cast it aside with a ragged cry and stretched forth his hand. “Blow, you whoreson winds! Blow, till your cheeks tear and your throats seize and the land is shriven before you. Blow!”
The gale picked back up, and to my horror I saw blood begin to stream from the corners of Havatier’s eyes, from his nostrils, from his ears. He stood like a man pilloried, shaking and shivering as he clutched the steering wheel, leaning into it as if facing an invisible wind all of his own.
The Bonegwayne drew ever closer. Four hundred yards. Three hundred. I could make out scurrying shadows on her deck.
Two hundred yards, and then Havatier let out a choked cry and fell to one knee. I was by his side immediately, arm around his waist, and helped him stand. “Two hundred yards!” His head lolled about his shoulders. “Come on man, one last stretch!”
“Can’t,” he muttered, tongue thick in his mouth. “Nothing left.”
The Bonegwayne began to pull away. Maestria hadn’t recognized us. Wanted nothing to do with us. I fought down the urge to scream after it, to yell for Maestria. Instead, I focused all my energies on Havatier. “One last push, you bastard. One last push!”
He muttered something glottal and thick. It might have been ‘nothing.’
Panic seized me. Even if we got Pony to row we’d never catch up with the galleon. So close! I seized Havatier by the chin and forced him to look me in the eyes.
“You failed your girlfriend in Port Gloom, strangled her with your own hands, didn’t you?”
He roused, batted at my hands, mouth pulling into a frown.
“You failed her then, and you’re going to fail us now. That what you want? To be a failure? Or will you show us what you’ve got? Show us your true strength? Dig deep, you fucking wizard, dig deep and make that wind blow!”
I felt a golden rush arise within me, felt my words grow turgid with power, the pain and exhaustion and fear push back before my own terrible confidence, and somehow I knew I was reaching him, piercing his pain and lethargy to blow the last flickering ember in his soul back into flame.
Havatier growled deep within his chest, his fingers closed painfully tight around my arm, and he raised his long, hollowed-out face to glare with death’s head eyes at the retreating Bonegwayne.
“Blow,” he rasped, and I shuddered, for it sounded as if the Hanged God himself were whispering in my ear.
The gale sprang up, the sail billowed forth once more, and the boat creaked and surged through the waves. Havatier clenched his jaw, gritted his teeth so tightly I heard the enamel creak, his fingers digging into the flesh of my arm like hooks.
“Blow!” he cried, and with a roar the wind blew spume off the top of every wave for nearly a hundred yards around, sent me staggering to my knees, and the boat nearly foundered, driven into the water instead of over it. Yashara let out a cry and did something with a rope, letting it out so that the sail swung over and the prow rose and we slid forward, skimming over the ocean, Havatier’s whole body shaking like a leaf in a storm.
The Bonegwayne came rushing back toward us, and then I heard the dull report of a distant explosion.
“Cannon fire!” roared Yashara. “Brace yourselves!”
A purple star flared to life as it rushed through the morning air at us and flew right over our sail to sink into the ocean beyond our boat. The cracking report of more cannon fire sounded, but then I heard Netherys laugh and the next explosion was followed by shouts and screams of dismay from the galleon’s deck.
Havatier let out a rattling cough, so deep and violent I felt blood spatter across my hand. His eyes rolled up, his whole body went limp, and I caught him as he fell and lowered him to the deck.
The gale died, but it had been enough; the Bonegwayne loomed above us, its side lined with men, and we slid right alongside it with the last of our momentum.
“Prepare to board!” shouted a voice I recognized well: Maestria, the ship’s captain.
“Wait!” I moved out into the open by the ship’s side, arms raised. “Maestria! Wait! It’s Kellik! Havatier’s with me!”
A pregnant pause as the men glared down at us, naked blades gleaming in the sunlight. Where was she - there. A slender figure amongst the larger men, yet radiating command and fury.
“Kellik?” The incredulity and rage in her voice was searing. “What by the puckered ass of the Death Kraken are you fucking doing out here?”
“Long story!” I didn’t know if I wanted to laugh or collapse. “But fancy meeting you here! Want to, ah, grab a drink?”
Another pregnant silence.
Finally she broke it. “You’re dragging me deeper into the very shit I was trying to flee from, Kellik! What part of ‘I want nothing to do with the Family or its vengeance’ didn’t you understand?”
“We can debate this all you want once we’re on board,” I shouted back. “C’mon, Maestria! Havatier’s bleeding out of his eyes and ears here. Let us aboard and I’ll answer all your questions.
“Fuck!” I saw her pace back and forth. “You being followed?”
“Not by anyone we’ve seen. Havatier put everything he had in catching up with you. I’m sure we’ve lost anybody that hoped to catch us.”
“Blind Fortuna’s fucking us in the ass with her gilded strap-on,” I heard her mutter, and then she froze, as if hesitating, only to hawk and spit over the side of the Bonegwayne. “Damn their eyes. Bring them up.”
Relief shot through me and my knees went weak. Were it not for the dozens of sailors staring right down at me, I might have sat. Instead, I helped with Tamara and Havatier as the Bonegwayne lowered ropes. Sailors shimmied down and took control of the boat, moving it around to where they could improvise a crane with which to haul Pony up on board. Perhaps twenty minutes later we were on the large deck, the rolling of the waves greatly reduced but still present.
Maestria strode up to me, hand resting on the pommel of her cutlass. She wore her bandana across one eye, her black hair pulled back into a score of dreads, her expression livid as she stared me up and down. Then, to my surprise, she laughed. “You look more dead than alive, Kellik! Did you succeed in your mission, or have you retreated after me like a pup with its tail between its legs?”
A large crowd had formed behind her, with a bunch of other men up in the crossbeams. My own crew stood beside me, but we were a wounded and ragged lot. So I dug deep and forced a smile upon my lips.
“Everyman Jack’s dead, Maestria. I killed him myself. The Sodden Hold is destroyed, and Port Gloom looks nothing more than an anthill a cow stepped on.”
Whispers and actual gasps erupted from the sailors, and I didn’t fault them; I’d have called myself a liar to my own face if I didn’t know better.
Maestria placed her hands on her generous hips, her gold hoop earrings flashing in the sunlight. “Well, well. I’d never have guessed it possible. So you’re finished, then? Done with Port Gloom? I’ve no room on this ship for you and your friends, though I’m happy to drop you off at the next port. The sooner the better, to be honest.”
“No, not finished.” I fought for my roguish smile, to keep the pain at bay, to exude bravado and confidence and not my desperation. “Just getting started. I’m happy to tell you what I learned from Jack before I killed him. But Port Gloom hasn’t heard the last of me, not by a long shot.”
Maestria gave an incredulous laugh, delight
ed and amazed. “How the fuck do you sit down, Kellik, with balls that big? I’d say you were a raving lunatic were it not for that gleam in your eye. Very well. We’re going to scuttle your ship after stripping it to the decks and keep making for Port Lusander. We’re going to follow the Dead Man’s Trench down the coast till we’ve reached its end, then make the crossing to Green Haven, so you can put off there or come all the way south. Either way, passage isn’t free. You pay or you work. No way around it.”
“Sure you want me to work?” I cocked my head to one side and closed one eye. “I’m as liable to launder your sheets - badly - as climb up them and tie those ropes in knots.”
Maestria arched an eyebrow. “You’re going nowhere near my rigging. We’ll figure out payments come tomorrow. For now, you all look one foot in the grave. Jonas!”
“Aye, Captain?” Her first mate stepped forward, a large, shaggy-haired man with an impressive amount of ink scrawled all over his muscular frame.
“Bunk them down and get Isha to serve them some hot food and brandy if they’ve a hunger. I want that boat they came in underwater and us back on course before I think to complain. Keep an eye out for pursuit. Kellik, with me.”
I was too damn tired to argue, so I followed after her as the crowd dispersed, men helping my friends to the hatch that led below decks. I thought Maestria wanted to step aside to discuss something, but when I saw her making for her forward cabin door, I slowed and then stopped.
She turned, eyebrow arching anew. “What’s wrong? You need rest and I want to hear your tale.”
I looked back to the others. Cerys was watching, as was Iris and Yashara.
“My friends,” I said. “I should stay with them. Make sure they’re all right.”
“You’re the captain of your crew,” she said. “You deserve some comfort after the morning you’ve had. But I understand wanting to see to your people. Come find me when you’re ready.”
I nodded and returned to the others, following them below into the hold. Tamara and Havatier were taken into his old cabin, where they were laid down foot to temple, both insensate. Cerys set about taking care of Tamara, removing her boots and calling for a bucket and cloth, while I tugged fitfully on Havatier’s massive boots and finally managed to wrench them off.
We worked in silence for a spell, and the bucket of water that was brought to us was soon black with mud. I finished first, and leaned back against Havatier’s table, feeling woozy and almost nauseous. For a few moments I just watched as Cerys cleaned Tamara, cleaning her face and washing out a few cuts with surprising tenderness.
“You all right?” asked Cerys at last, dropping the rag in the bucket and reaching out to curl a strand of hair behind my ear.
“I could sleep for a hundred nights,” I said, but forced a smile nonetheless. “You?”
“Actually, I’m remembering our first night in Tamara’s shack.” Then she snorted. “No, not that part, though that was nice enough. About how she took care of us there. Healed us. Worked her magic to mend my broken arm. Now here she lies, and we’re doing our best to return the favor.”
“Aye.” I studied Tamara’s still features. Like Havatier, her face was carved by deep lines of fatigue, her skin ashen, her eyes ringed by dark smudges. “She did too much down there. Brought too many of us back from the Ashen Garden’s gates. Do… do you think she’ll recover?”
Cerys leaned forward to lay the back of her hand against Tamara’s brow, then pressed her fingers against the side of her neck. “I’m not sure, but I think her pulse is a little steadier. She’s strong, stronger than she looks. I think she’ll pull through.”
“I pray she does. Havatier as well. He pushed far past the point of safety to get us here. We all owe him.”
“I heard your words to him at the end there,” said Cerys, crossing her arms and staring down at the comatose weather mage. “They sounded… excessively harsh, and hard to credit, but I guess they worked. I hope you’re right. I hope he didn’t sacrifice himself for the rest of us. He seems a decent man.”
“Agreed.” I pinched the brow of my nose. “Fuck, Cerys. But we did it.” I dropped my hand and gave her a tired smile. “We’ve come a long way from Tamara’s shack.”
She reached out again and ran her fingers through my hair, plucking a few splinters of rotten wood free. “That we have. But what now? We’ve little gold, no resources, and no direction. You say you want to tackle all of Port Gloom, but I can’t help but feel our luck has run its course. They’ll be more than ready for us the next time. The days of being underestimated are over.”
“Agreed.” I took her hand in my own. “But we won’t be returning till we’re ready. I’ve lots to share with you about what I learned from Jack. But I want to talk about it with the others present. We’re going to really need to think this through if we’re to find a solution.”
Cerys’ smile was fond. “Your optimism is irrepressible, Kellik. Nigh on suicidal. I can’t help but think -” But her words were cut off by a jaw-cracking yawn. “Oh. Excuse me.” She promptly yawned again.
“Let’s find you a hammock,” I said, and drew her to the door. “Come.”
The main cabin was a large room across which thirty or so hammocks were strung, each so close to its neighbor that a resting sailor could share a thimble of rum with ease. Iris had sunken into one such, her presence indicated more by the explosion of black, muddy hems from her lacey dress than her own features. Yashara was already snoring lightly, lying with one great leg hanging over the side, while Pony had simply lain down on the floor to pass out, a stony blue eye resting over his face, Pogo asleep in the curve of his other elbow. Netherys wasn’t in sight, but I wasn’t worried; she’d find the right corner for herself.
The ship rolled and creaked. We found two empty hammocks that were strung up next to each other and fell into them. I wanted to pull my boots off, to unstrap my scabbard, but exhaustion rolled over me like a great filthy wave coursing down the length of the Snake Head. I closed my eyes. My body cried out for rest. My wounds, uncountable as they had been, had mostly healed over already, so that I was a forest of scabs and red raised welts. But the pain was distant, numbed by fatigue.
When we rose, I promised myself. I’d tell them everything. My plans for revenge. How I’d slain Jack, though he’d begun turning into a demon.
How I was the son of a king troll.
The words caused me to open my eyes and stare up at the underside of the deck. I lay there, swinging gently, heart thudding. Would they still accept me as one of their own? Would they still count me as a friend once they learned that a monster’s blood ran in my veins?
Or would they cast me aside - or worse yet - demand my death?
Even the horror of that thought couldn’t stave off exhaustion for long. My eyelids fluttered, I draped my arm over my eyes and slept.
* * *
It was dusk when I awoke, confused and alarmed at being enclosed within a rough canvas hammock with a bunch of strange voices laughing and talking about me. My hand dropped to the hilt of my blade only to find a strange design on the pommel and the binding cool to the touch; this threw me off further till I remembered the frost sword and with that the rest came rushing back, a cavalcade of memories, of bloodshed and violence, the undead and Jack, the flight across the ocean and the refuge we’d taken on Maestria’s ship.
I relaxed, resting my head back, and listened to the voices in the hold.
“Ah, but I’d die a happy man,” said one voice to the amusement of many. “I’ve always dreamed of such sweet death, my head crushed like a watermelon between her great green thighs.”
“That your idea of ruttin’, Marl?” An older man, his own laughter barely kept in check. “No wonder you’re a solitary creature, if you think pleasing a woman involves having her squeeze your fool head betwixt her thighs!”
“No! That’s not what I meant,” protested Marl, but he was drowned out.
“Not even that orc lady could crush that thic
k head of his,” cried out one.
“I’d pay gold to see her try!”
“Too good an end for him!”
“I’m more interested in what’s between those legs, if you ask me,” piped up a younger voice.
“Lookit him! A lad no older than fifteen and already he courts the Hanged God!”
“Aye, Simon, the only thing the likes of us would find between those heavenly green thighs is the Ashen Garden,” said the older man, “for to venture into that sweet glade is to court death, no matter how sweet the nectar may taste upon our tongues -”
“There he goes,” said a fourth. “No raptures tonight, Ezik!”
“- and though we might tread with gladdened hearts into that moist forest -”
“Moist forest? Moist forest?!”
“- with our quivering lance in hand -”
“I’m going to be sick. He talking about his lance again?”
“Pennants fluttering!” crowed someone else.
“- with our pennants fluttering -” continued Ezik, but was then drowned out by the raucous laughter.
I couldn’t help but grin ruefully. Their camaraderie was bittersweet; it reminded me of life with the Family, down in the Sodden Hold, ragging each other and trying to score points off each other’s foibles, laughing and drinking and feeling at home.
A home I’d just finished razing to the ground, choking with the very corpses of the men and women I’d once joked and felt at home with.
Tears stung my eyes and I dashed them away angrily, sitting up and swinging my legs over. This silenced the sailors, who’d gathered around a small barrel on which a single stub of a candle burned, most of them sitting in their hammocks or standing with their arms crossed.
“As you were,” I said, painfully aware of how stiff and formal the air had become. I raked my hands through my hair and glanced at Cerys’ hammock: empty.
Ignoring the stares, I walked down the length of the room to Havatier’s cabin, where I gave a light knock and then opened the door to peer within. Both the weather mage and Tamara lay still, breathing softly, so I pulled the door closed and made my way up to the mid-deck.