His first thoughts were delight at the waves of fear exuding from the humans. He’d always enjoyed watching them suffer in severe weather while he, safe in the Veil, felt none of it. But his own interests quickly pushed aside his joy. If the ships lost direction in the storm, how much longer until they found land? And if they sank . . . who would Gozan bond with?
Human screams captured his attention. He followed the sound and saw that a ship had been caught in the whirlpool’s current. He instantly put himself down on the main deck, eager to watch the disaster unfold. He found this ship surprisingly familiar. It was the Baretam, the ship the pirates had taken from Emperor Ulrik. Fortuitous, then, that Jazlyn had accompanied the emperor to his vice flagship Gillsmore.
The ship sailed quickly around and around the maelstrom. It appeared the captain had given up, as a handful of sailors knelt at the port rail. Some prayed, some stared over the railing at their impending death, and all clutched the rail as if doing so might spare them. Gozan put himself in their midst and fed off their fear, immensely gratified.
The ship tipped slowly, and the sailors slid toward the foredeck, screaming and clutching for handholds.
You’re going to die, he said into one man’s ear and relished the way the man’s face contorted.
The Baretam jerked nearly upright, its bow caught in the downdraft. The sailors shot along the main deck and piled up against the forward bulkhead.
Gozan flew into the sky to get a better look. Stern in the air, the ship spun on its nose, whipping around the center of the maelstrom. The foremast dipped into the opposite side of the whirlpool and ripped clear off, causing its sails and rigging to bounce and tangle as the current dragged them along.
More shadir arrived as the humans began to die. The presence of so many of his kind dampened Gozan’s thrill, and he left, drifting back toward the rest of the fleet.
Several more ships were headed right for the maelstrom. If Gozan waited, he might witness a crash when another ship got caught in the vortex and ran into the Baretam.
First he must ensure the safety of his future.
He took a wide look at the fleet, surprised to see it had started to split into two groups. On one side Dendron and his mantic king were headed right for the storm and the islands beyond. A collection of pirated ships followed. Then came a gap where a second group of pirates lagged.
On the other side the Armanians had steered away from the storm and resumed their northern course, leading the majority of the fleet away from land.
In the very back, as usual, the Magonian ship lingered out of sight.
Gozan found the Gillsmore far enough back in the fleet that he need not hurry to alert Jazlyn of the situation. He would rather know what these captains had in mind before advising her.
First he went to the Amarnath, where Dendron sailed with the mantic king. A series of waterspouts twirled down from black clouds like a wall. The ship bucked on the turbulent sea like a horse looking to unseat its rider. Six mantics stood along the quarterdeck rail. A group of people sat on the deck behind them, tied to the rail with ropes. Malleants. Jealousy surged through Gozan. Dendron was rich indeed.
The mantics drew strength from the malleants and cast their spells. A protective cylinder formed around the ship. Overhead, the sky opened up in a patch of clear blue. The storm and rain curled around the outside of the void the magic had created. Dozens of shadir flew about, feeding off the humans’ loyalty and the malleants’ fear.
The Amarnath passed through one of the waterspouts. The funnel twisted against the outside of the protective barrier, pelting it with water. The intensity of the spray produced a well of fear from the malleants, and Gozan reveled in it.
The whirlwind passed over to the other side of the ship, and everything seemed to calm, though rain still beat against the sides of the magical barrier around the ship, making rivulets run down what looked like glass.
Gozan lingered while the ship passed through two more waterspouts, then went to the Vespara at the very back of the fleet. He found Magon hovering beside her human twin.
“How have you advised your human?” Gozan asked her.
“I told her to stay back from the storm. I cannot risk losing them to the sea.”
“Dendron sails into the eye of it,” Gozan said.
“He is a fool,” she spat. “But I should like to see that for myself.”
And she vanished.
Gozan passed through the Veil to the first of the pirate ships lagging behind. At the helm he found the pair who had led the raid to take the Baretam from Emperor Ulrik. A common shadir that had taken the form of a brown wolf stood between them, gleaming teeth bared as it watched their argument.
“Why have we slowed down?” the lipless man yelled through the pounding rain.
“King Barthel has sailed into the storm,” the captain said. “He’s madder than a Magonian crow if he thinks we can sail through that without the help of his mantics.”
“We’re just going to wait?” the lipless man asked.
“We’re going to change course,” the captain said.
“What about my face?” the lipless man asked. “A mantic is the only one who can fix what that crow did to me.”
“I’m all sympathy, son,” the captain said. “I did my best. Truly I did. But the gods are against me. About time you learned to live with it. Look at the bright side. You’re terrifying to look at. That face makes people instantly fear you. We’ll call you Growler or Fangs or something delightfully horrible. We’re better off on our own without the mantics trying to control us.”
A strange comment coming from a man who kept a common shadir. Gozan could not tell which human the common was bonded to, so he took the form of a common of equal strength and struck up a conversation. A few questions and praises and he had the common, whose name was Haroan, bragging all about its exploits.
“My master is in his cabin. We snuck aboard when Randmuir the pirate met with King Barthel. We’ve put the pirate under our control, so we rule this ship now.”
“How clever,” Gozan said, noting the tattoo on the back of the captain’s neck. “So you’ll compel him to follow the Amarnath?”
“No,” Haroan said. “Our orders are to follow the pirate and report back. The compulsion will only be used when it best serves the king.”
Interesting. Dendron’s reach was far. Gozan bid the common good luck and set off to see why the Armanians were leading the majority of the fleet away from land.
He arrived on the Seffynaw and found the Armanian princes with the captain on the quarterdeck.
“I am certain I can steer us around the storm and back toward land, Your Highness,” the helmsman said.
“I have no doubt of that, Master Shinn,” Prince Wilek said. “But I was wrong to counter an order from Arman. We will sail north until the prophetess tells us we have reached our original course. I will issue new instructions then.”
“Yes, sir,” Shinn, the helmsman, said, and Gozan reveled in the man’s anger.
Prince Wilek walked away, and the younger prince chased after him. Gozan followed.
“But, Wil. Maleen says land is southwest.”
“I know it. But Arman does not wish us to go that way.”
“But . . . why?”
Prince Wilek set his hand on the younger prince’s shoulder. “Miss Onika says that land in particular is not for us. Obeying her caution was not easy for me, brother. I need your support in this.”
“Of course,” the young man said, though frustration rose up inside him.
Gozan soaked it in as he considered their words. Miss Onika? The pale blind woman Sir Kalenek had been leading through Rurekau? That she had been advising the Armanians annoyed Gozan. The prophetess swore allegiance to Arman, enemy of Lord Gâzar. Gozan could not allow her to have influence over Jazlyn. He set off to convince Jazlyn to urge Emperor Ulrik to stay away from the Armanians at all costs.
Trevn
The next morning when Trevn wa
s on watch, he stood at the top of the mainmast, gazing out at the horizon and the distant crest of land. Devastated by the sight, knowing they were not to go there, Trevn did not call down what he saw. No matter. The lookouts on other ships did, and signal flags had shot up all over. The flagmen on the Seffynaw were doing their best to communicate Wilek’s wishes.
That land was not for them. They would continue north.
It likely sounded insane.
Trevn watched ships ignore the flagship’s orders, peel away from the fleet, and sail toward the land. By the end of his watch, at least three dozen had done so, but by then another storm had risen up in the distance, hiding the land from view.
A large portion of the fleet had stayed with them, including the Sarikarians, which did not surprise Trevn considering they had wanted to travel northwest from the start.
Trevn reached for Mielle. At first he felt nothing but the hollow pit where her presence should abide. This brought on a panic that she might have died. Without wanting it to happen, tears sprung to his eyes.
A familiar concern pressed upon his heart, and he knew that it was Mielle, worrying about the worry she felt from him.
“Where are you?” he asked, wishing she might hear and answer.
He stared at the blackish skyline that now completely hid the pale’s land from view. Surely Arman wouldn’t allow Mielle’s ship to reach the pale’s islands if that wasn’t where he wanted them to go. The Rafayah must be in the fleet, somewhere behind them, perhaps. Once they found land, Trevn would know for sure.
The question was, how much longer would they have to wait?
Wilek
Going north was easy sailing. Not only that, but fishing improved, and calm rains were frequent enough to keep the water barrels filled.
This did not appease the passengers. As rumor spread of land passed by, they began to rebel. Crime increased, and as a result, so did floggings. Wilek hated it, but he didn’t know what else could be done. One week passed, then a second. And while the fish and water kept everyone well nourished, morale bordered on rebellion.
Until one late midday nearly three weeks after they’d changed course. Oli Agoros barged in to Wilek’s office, followed by Novan.
“It’s land, Your Highness,” Oli said.
Wilek shot out of his chair and ran.
As he made his way to the quarterdeck, he could feel the ship listing to port. He sprinted outside, greeted by a blast of frigid air. The deck was nearly clear, as everyone had crowded the port side. Hope clawed its way up Wilek’s throat, making it difficult to breathe as he pushed through the crowd toward the rail.
“Make way for the sâr-regent!” Novan yelled.
A cheer rose up. The people parted, and Wilek stepped into the opening. A sheen of sunlight painted the water in brightness. Wilek squinted and held his hand above his eyes. There on the horizon was something solid. Something brown and gray. And white.
Land. It stretched out to both sides as far as he could see. Surely this was large enough for their remnant. He spotted a distant white mountain peak and grinned. This place would have to be vast to host such a monument.
“Fetch Miss Onika,” he told Novan.
Novan echoed his order to a soldier as Wilek devoured the sight with his eyes. He saw no grass, though there were spindly gray trees with branches that stretched toward the white ground. Was that sand? He had never seen white sand before. This place looked nothing like Bakurah Island, Armania, or any place Wilek had seen in the Five Realms.
“How long . . . ?” He twisted about, suddenly uncertain where the captain or admiral might be. “Novan, I must speak with the admiral.”
“He’s at the whip with the captain, Your Highness.”
Wilek made his way through the crowd toward the men. “How long until we reach it, Admiral?”
“Distances from land can be deceiving, Your Highness,” Admiral Livina said.
“Hazard a guess.”
“It’s nearly sunset. We’ll get as close as we can, then drop anchor for the night. We’ll take the longboats out at first light. I’d like to sail around it, look for a sloping beach where the surf is gentle before making landfall.”
“No. I must land today,” Wilek said.
“One should never land in a foreign port at night, Your Highness.”
Wilek put a grow lens to his eye, studied the rocky beach with tufts of yellow plants sprouting up here and there. “It looks gentle enough, don’t you think?” He passed the lens to Admiral Livina.
The man looked through it and sighed. “Very inviting, I’d say.”
“We’re on the leeward side,” Captain Bussie added, “so that’s a boon.”
“There could be coral reefs in our way,” the admiral said. “I’d much rather wait until morning.”
“I cannot wait, Admiral,” Wilek said. “To wait is to give our enemies first pick of the land.” He gestured behind them. “Even my own people won’t wait, I assure you. I must be first.”
The admiral sighed. “The land is likely occupied already.”
“Then I will be the first from the Five Realms to know it. Captain Bussie, monitor the depths and get us as close as you feel comfortable before setting anchor. Rayim, prepare four longboats and three dozen men. Dendrick, pack enough tents and whatever supplies you deem necessary. We will see the Armanian flag flying on that shore by nightfall.”
“I’m coming with you,” Trevn said.
Wilek met his brother’s eyes. It wasn’t a good idea for them both to leave the ship, but he had no right to deny Trevn this moment. His brother had worked harder than most to get them here. “Captain Bussie, I’m removing Sâr Trevn from your crew.”
“Yes, sir,” the captain said.
Trevn grinned. “Thanks, Wil! I’ll get my things.” He sprinted away.
As the longboats were made ready, Wilek sought out Miss Onika. He found her with Inolah and Oli, who were standing on the stern deck at the taffrail.
“Miss Onika,” Wilek said. “Please tell me this land is acceptable to Arman.”
Her joyful expression answered before she spoke. “I have no objection to it, Your Highness. It will not be long until Arman confirms it himself.”
Cryptic but enough of a yes for him. “Thank you, lady.”
Zeroah found him then and slipped her arm around his waist. “Another island?” she asked, resting her head on his shoulder.
“I don’t think so,” Wilek said, pointing to the mountain. “See that peak? No tiny island could hold something that big.”
He kissed his wife’s hair and left her with Inolah and Oli, then walked to his cabin to gather his things. When he returned to the boat fall, Trevn was helping the sailors load the longboats. Time seemed to crawl. The sun had already begun to set. Lately it had been doing so much earlier than it ever had back in Everton.
Soon they were on their way. The longboat jerked across the inshore currents, the men rowing hard. Wilek stood with one knee on the forward-most bench that was nestled in the bow, eagerly looking ahead. Trevn stood beside him, leaning forward with both hands gripping the boat’s edge. Seagulls swarmed the rocky beach like gnats, and higher up, raven-like birds circled. The wildlife gave him hope that this was land to be lived on.
Let it be so, Arman. Let this be home.
The beach was smaller than that of Bakurah Island. To the east a forest of droopy charcoal trees met the sea. The air held a combination of salt and the strong, bitter scent of earth.
By the time Wilek’s boat first scraped over the rocky sand, dusk had fallen. The oarsmen jumped out into the water and ran the boat up onto the beach. Trevn didn’t wait for them to finish. He leapt over the side and into the shallow surf, gasped.
“Sands! That’s cold,” Trevn said. Breath fogged from his lips as he swung his arms and pulled his legs along. “Good thing I wore my boots.”
Wilek followed him into the frigid water. It came up to his knees, quickly filling his boots and making his trousers
cling to his legs. “Mine don’t seem to be helping,” Wilek said.
They slogged up onto the white sand. Wilek took two steps, and the sound and feel of the ground under his boots made him realize that this was not sand at all. He picked up a handful of icy wetness and it melted in his palm.
“It’s snow!” Trevn yelled, tossing a handful at Wilek.
Snow. Wilek had heard talk of snow from those who’d visited the Polar Desert, but he’d never had reason to make the journey himself. It was said nothing could live there. Sarikarians knew more of it. He kicked some dead stalks of golden grass that poked up from the ground. He would have to consult with King Loran right away as to how to live in such an environment.
“Do trees grow in the Polar Desert?” he asked Trevn.
“I don’t think so. The Polar Desert is nothing but plains of ice and snow. Look at this.” Trevn crouched beside a twiggy bush. “See these knobs along the branch? That’s a sign of leaves. There are seasons here, Wil, like in Sarikar and Magonia. This must be winter.”
“But it’s summer,” Wilek said.
“By the Five Realms calendar, yes, but we’ve traveled a long way. It’s winter here.”
They had landed on a point where both sides of the coast seemed to run northbound. Their breath puffed out in clouds. Trevn’s lips were turning blue, and Wilek’s feet already felt numb. Would it be too cold to live here?
They were out of food. Out of water. Out of time. This place was their last chance. And Onika had concurred. This was home. They would have to find a way to make it work.
Wilek sank to his knees, grabbed two handfuls of snow, and lifted them up before his eyes. He squeezed and let the icy water drip from his fists. Glorious land. They should build an altar, sacrifice a burnt offering, but there were no animals left to sacrifice but three horses and some hens. Wilek would not sacrifice a human.
A vow offering would have to do until he could bring the horses ashore or hunt something better.
“To you, Arman!” he yelled at the top of his lungs. “I know now that you can do all things. No plan of yours can be thwarted. That I doubted you . . . I despise myself. I repent!” He looked up to Trevn, grabbed his brother’s wrist. “Kneel in worship before He Who Made the World, Trevn. The God led us here, and we must thank him.”
Maelstrom Page 23