‘Head up novice. It’s not over yet. Get that crossbow back up the mast. Now!’
Jagula swung her round roughly and pointed towards the second galley. Its mast was gone, but it was being powered towards them by two banks of huge oars, rising and falling in unison. The Wind of Golmeira was trapped, tied fast to the first galley. Zastra retrieved her discarded crossbow and clambered up the main mast. Below her the deck was cleared and the catapults readied once more. The galley was barely a hundred paces away when the first catapult fired. The rocks rained down on their target in a deadly shower. A section of oars spiked upward and others snapped, sending the rhythm into chaos. The second catapult fired and another volley of rock landed, inflicting stomach-turning devastation upon the galley deck. Yet still it came on, drifting towards them. Zastra saw a Skurg issuing orders, re-organising his remaining troops into a compact group. He was at the limit of her range but she fired anyway. Her target slumped to the ground and the other Skurgs looked around uncertainly. They were still in disarray as the galley ploughed into the quarterdeck of the Wind of Golmeira. Burgal and his band of Kyrgs were ready and they burst upon the disorganised foe. Zastra let off two more bolts and again slid down to the deck. From her left a grey-haired Skurg sprang towards her. She swayed out of the way, kicked out a leg and tripped him to the ground. She had the tip of sword against her opponent’s neck, but hesitated as the large artery in his throat pulsed against the metal. An object flashed past her head and suddenly the Skurg was dead, the hilt of knife protruding from his throat. Zastra turned to see Captain Dastrin clenching his fist.
‘Do not hesitate. Death is all they deserve.’
A cheer broke out on the deck behind her. The fight was over. They had won. As the sounds died down, Zastra stared across the length of the deck. How had she not noticed that it was covered in blood and bodies? She rushed to the side of the ship as nausea overtook her and she was sick into the ocean.
Chapter Nineteen
Jerenik came across the deck to Zastra, flushed and sweaty.
‘We showed them beasts, eh? I reckon I killed at least four. Nice shooting, mountain girl. I saw how that Skurg guthan went down. Didn’t know you were that good.’
Zastra puffed out her cheeks. ‘Lucky shot.’
Mata, the Watchmaster for the second Half of the crew, was standing nearby.
‘You showed some good sharpshooter skills today,’ she said. ‘Layna isn’t it?’
Zastra nodded weakly. Mata looked down at her sympathetically.
‘The first battle is always tough. Remember, it was them or you. Skurgs show no mercy and don’t ask me what they do with the bodies of their enemies.’
The Watchmaster look as if she would have said more, but she was called away by Lieutenant Jagula. Jerenik started to clean his sword, whistling a triumphant tune. Zastra remembered the last time she had seen him, backed against the bulwarks by a crowd of Skurgs.
‘I saw you with Zarvic and Yashni. Are they all right?’
‘Zarvic’s dead. As for Yashni, I’ve no idea. She didn’t seem to be enjoying things much.’
‘There wasn’t a lot to enjoy. Poor Zarvic, he deserved better. He was a good fellow.’
‘Oh, cheer up, will you? Don’t it feel good to be alive?’
Zastra didn’t like to agree, but she had to admit to a feeling of strange exhilaration. Or perhaps it was just relief. Whatever it was, it was mixed with sadness for the death of Zarvic and her other crewmates. And where was Yashni? There was no sign of her on deck, so she went to search below. She found the girl in a dark corner of the healer’s room, curled into a tight ball.
‘Yashni, are you hurt?’
The girl did not move. Zastra looked her over but could see no sign of injury.
‘It’s all right.’ Zastra reached gingerly towards the girl. ‘It’s over now.’
A muffled sob emerged from the darkness.
‘It’s not all right. It’ll never be all right. I’m… I’ll never be able to… I can’t…’
‘Hush now,’ whispered Zastra. ‘Not everyone is suited to fighting. Don’t be upset.’
‘But they’ll know. Dastrin will find out and throw me in the barrel for being a coward.’
A shadow fell across them both as the dim light of the jula lamp was blocked by a tall figure. It was Watchmaster Mata.
‘What’s going on here? I’m to make a note of the injured for Captain Dastrin. What’s the status of this one? I can’t see any wounds.’
Yashni scrunched up even tighter.
‘Please,’ Zastra entreated. ‘It’s not her fault.’ Mata studied them both for a moment before kneeling down and pushing Yashni’s shoulder back so she could see her face.
‘Yashni, isn’t it? She’s on my watch.’
Zastra nodded. Mata stood back.
‘Well, Yashni, Tijan needs someone to help him with the wounded. I can say I ordered you down here to assist. But I need you to get up. Right now.’
Yashni unfurled slightly, her moist eyes searching for Zastra’s. Zastra nodded encouragingly. Mata held out her hand. ‘Come with me,’ she said firmly. Yashni allowed herself to be led across the room towards the healer. Tijan did not stop what he was doing, but listened as Mata whispered something in his ear. He nodded brusquely and thrust a bundle of bandages into Yashni’s hands. Mata returned to Zastra.
‘You’d better get back on deck. There’ll be a lot of work to do and you don’t want Dastrin to think you’re shirking.’
‘Thank you. I—’
‘Keep your thanks.’ Mata cut her off tersely. ‘Not a word about this. Up you go, or you’ll be for the barrel.’
In many ways, the aftermath was worse than the battle itself. There was much to be done and none of it pleasant. One of the Skurg galleys had drifted away – a floating bonfire – and was left to its fate. The other two ships were searched for anything of value and then Dastrin ordered them to be sunk. The dead Skurgs were unceremoniously thrown overboard. Any wounded amongst the Golmeiran crew were taken below to await the attentions of the overworked Tijan. The bodies of their own dead, the dark skinned form of Zarvic among them, were placed in sacks weighted down with rocks and then also tipped overboard. Dastrin allowed no words to be said, nor any grief to be shown for the dead, his only concern the state of his ship. No one was allowed a moment’s rest until the decks had been scoured clean and repairs completed to the quarterdeck, where the impact of the second galley had caused considerable damage. With their numbers reduced by the absence of the wounded and the dead, the system of alternate Halves was temporarily suspended. All worked together until the ship was back in some kind of order. Zastra and her crewmates moved around like ghosts, following orders in a daze of exhaustion.
It was two days before Koltan allowed his Half to take a break. Zastra sought out Yashni. She found her below decks, helping a man with a broken arm eat a bowl of porridge. She smiled shyly as Zastra came towards her. The crew had each been given a small square of toffee, a reward arranged by Mata for their hard work. Zastra snapped her piece in two and gave half to Yashni.
‘How are you doing?’
‘Busy.’ Yashni accepted Zastra’s offering gratefully. She had dark circles under her eyes but her voice and body were full of energy. She barely had time to chew a mouthful of toffee before there was a call from another bunk. Yashni dashed across to tighten some bandages and then fetched the thirsty patient some water. A Kyrg with a heavily bandaged head grunted in pain and Yashni adjusted his pillow and mixed him a draught of medicine, talking to him in soothing tones until he was calm and drank it all down.
‘Looks like you’ve found your perfect job.’
‘Maybe.’ Yashni flushed. ‘Tijan has said he’ll ask if I can be assigned to him as his assistant. I do hope they’ll let me.’
‘Then I hope so too.’ Zastra looked around. ‘You’ll be more use here than scrubbing decks.’
Yashni bowed her head.
‘Thank you for…
you know.’
‘It’s nothing.’ Zastra waved away her thanks. ‘Anyway, it’s Mata you should thank, not me.’
‘Yashni, I need more bandages over here.’ Tijan glared at them from the far side of the room.
‘Is he always that grumpy?’
‘Oh yes.’ Yashni dashed to a nearby chest and filled her arms with clean bandages. ‘But he’s a dear really, if he takes a liking to you.’
The healer glared across at Zastra.
‘Unless you’re wounded, get out! Or should I tell the captain that you need more work?’
‘I guess he doesn’t like me yet,’ muttered Zastra. She did not wait for Tijan to repeat the command. Her cot was waiting and she felt as if she could sleep for a week.
Chapter Twenty
Once the Wind of Golmeira was repaired to Dastrin’s satisfaction, the crew resumed their usual duties, split again into alternate Halves. The first morning back in their normal routine, Zastra responded to the gong that signalled the beginning of her shift as usual, but was stopped by a large hand against her chest. It was Koltan, impassive as always.
‘Lieutenant Jagula wants to see you.’
‘Me? What for?’
‘No questions. Jump to it.’
Jagula, next only to Dastrin in power and authority. What did she want with her? Had she found out about Yashni somehow? Perhaps she would question Zastra about what had happened. Zastra determined she would say nothing. Jagula’s cabin was a tiny box with a burlap curtain for a door, squeezed between Dastrin’s large quarters in the quarterdeck and the officers’ mess. Zastra had never been there before and wasn’t sure how she was supposed to announce herself. She could hardly knock, neither could she barge in unannounced. She settled for a loud cough. The burlap curtain was snatched back and a knife was at her throat before she could move.
‘Oh, it’s you. Come in then, don’t skulk about.’ Jagula lowered the knife and Zastra followed her into the tiny cabin. There was barely enough room for them both, and Zastra had to tilt her head to one side to prevent it hitting the ceiling.
‘I saw your shooting. You are good. Better than good.’
‘Just lucky.’ Zastra’s heart began to race. Did Jagula suspect something?
‘False modesty disgusts me. It is lying by another name. You seem to have a good head under pressure. Something you’ll need if you are going to become a Watchmaster.’
‘A what?’ Zastra jerked back in surprise and grimaced as the back of her head connected with a low beam.
‘Watchmaster Mata tells me you can read. Is that true?’
Zastra nodded, rubbing her head ruefully. Some of the crew had received letters the last time they had put into port and Zastra had offered to read for those who could not. She didn’t know how Mata had found out, but it was hard to keep anything secret amongst the crowded decks.
‘Good. Watchmaster Mata has offered to tutor you. Your training starts immediately. Dismissed.’
Zastra headed back up to the deck in a daze. Before her eyes had adjusted to the light after the darkness below decks, Koltan shoved a scourer into her hand, together with a bucket.
‘Don’t think that now you’re Jagula’s new pet you can shirk your duties. When you’ve finished scrubbing the quarterdeck, the head needs flushing out.’
Cleaning the head was the most unpleasant of all the crew’s tasks and generally reserved for Ithgol. Zastra guessed that Koltan was less than pleased by her sudden promotion.
‘Have fun.’ Jerenik grinned at her. ‘Don’t know what you did to annoy Jagula, but it must have been bad.’
Zastra told him what had happened. Jerenik slapped her hard between her shoulder blades and chuckled.
‘Well, if this is how they reward you for good fighting, I might just let the Skurgs kill me next time.’
Zastra’s lessons with Mata had to be crammed into her free time after her shift with Koltan had finished. Koltan’s displeasure at Jagula’s decision did not lessen, and Zastra became extremely familiar with the fetid stench of the head. Mata began by teaching her the basics of sailing and navigation. It was much more complicated and difficult than Zastra could have thought, but she found it interesting and learned quickly. She began to understand the meaning of Koltan’s hitherto incomprehensible commands, that tacking and wearing, rather than being ways to make the crew suffer, were manoeuvres that had to be timed and handled to perfection. Slowly and patiently, Mata taught her the secrets she herself had learned from many years at sea. How and when to trim sail, how to increase the speed of a ship by changing the weight balance, or by trimming the jib and more besides. One area where Zastra seemed to naturally excel was in judging the strength and direction of the wind. She could sense a change almost before it was upon them and knew instinctively the best point of sailing to get the most out of the ship. Sometimes, it felt as if she were back in the mountains, riding a Jula tree.
‘The wind is like family,’ Mata would say. ‘One moment it is all smiles and friendly embraces, but it can turn in an instant. You must love it but remember that it can hurt you too.’
Zastra could hardly believe it when Mata complimented her on her grasp of mathematics.
‘Not many of our crew can even add up, let alone understand the basics of geometry. I’m impressed.’
Zastra tried not to smile. Sestra, her old teacher at Golmer Castle had always berated Zastra for her lack of attention, particularly in maths classes. Zastra was surprised by how much she remembered, even after all these years. However, they soon reached the limit of what Sestra had taught her and Mata became distinctly less impressed as Zastra struggled with the more complicated navigational calculations. She found it next to impossible to work out the tidal effects of the twin moons, vital to guiding the ship safely in and out of the various coastal harbours, and she spent all her spare hours poring over charts and learning tables of numbers by rote. Mata insisted she become familiar with the entire southern landscape of Golmeira with its distinctive landmarks and dangerous reefs. In spite of herself, Zastra enjoyed learning what Mata had to teach. The first time she was put in sole charge of helming the ship through three or four tacks was an exhilarating experience. Mata was a good teacher and her love of the sea and store of knowledge were vast. Ever since her kindness to Yashni, Zastra had liked and respected the seasoned Watchmaster. Although she gave out punishment when necessary, she never seemed to enjoy it in the way that Burgal and Dastrin did. When Zastra struggled with the principles of using the stars for navigation at night, instead of a beating, Mata would provide extra homework to fill the gaps in Zastra’s knowledge. Before long, she had been entrusted with handling the ship for an entire watch. Despite Koltan glowering at her the whole time, the watch passed uneventfully. As Zastra headed below for a well-earned rest, her Watchmaster grabbed her arm.
‘It’s all very well, flitting about near the Golmeiran Coast. Wait until you hit the Southern Reaches. That’ll knock the cockiness out of you.’
Chapter Twenty-one
The Wind of Golmeira journeyed back and forth along the long coastline of Golmeira. For the most part, their task was to protect merchant vessels from Skurgs and other pirates as they trafficked goods along the major trading route to the Far Isles, which lay hundreds of leagues east of Golmeira. Any large vessel that wished to exit the Sea of Golmeira at its eastern edge would generally pass through the narrow and treacherous Lodaran Straits, which lay between the inhospitable desert land to the east of Sendor and Southland, the vast island that supplied the rest of Golmeira with horses and grain. It was possible to sail round the southern tip of Southland, but such a journey took several days, even in good weather, and most traders could not afford to waste the time. Each end of the straits was guarded by one of Thorlberd’s vessels. All ships, even those of the Golmeiran fleet, were forced to halt and be boarded for inspection before being allowed to pass through. Mata, the most experienced sailor in the crew, was generally charged with navigating their passage. Zastra
had studied the charts and Mata had made her redraw them over and over again until she had by heart the location of the many hidden rocks and rogue currents that made the narrow channel so dangerous to the untutored. Yet still she watched in awe as Mata took personal charge of the helm, barking terse instructions to the men and women at the sails as they picked their way through the dangerous waters using only a tiny flap of the rearsail and the jib, a small triangular sail that sat at the very front of the ship, attached to the bowsprit.
Once through the straits and out into the open waters to the east, they made for the Far Isles. A round trip could take a quarter of a year, especially if the weather turned ugly, which it often did. The crew had to be particularly wary for the four days of Moonscross, when the twin moons, Horval and Kalin, came into alignment and the seas grew ugly and unpredictable. It was wise at this time to seek shelter at one of the island ports that were scattered along the route. Mata explained how these outposts, independent of Golmeira and Sendor, made their living from fishing and from the trade convoys. Each island differed in the architecture of their buildings and the style of clothes worn by the inhabitants. The only thing they had in common was the friendliness of their people, who would wave at them from the shore or from their small fishing vessels whenever they passed. If ever the Wind of Golmeira dropped anchor, they would row out to them and shout greetings and news about the sea conditions. Zastra wished she was allowed to talk to them. Mata reckoned these Outlanders, as she called them, knew more about sailing than anyone in the Golmeiran fleet. However, only officers were allowed to leave the ship. Burgal and his Kyrgs stood on constant guard whenever they were near land to ensure none of the crew tried to escape.
Murthen Island: Book Two: Tales of Golmeira Page 10