Murthen Island: Book Two: Tales of Golmeira

by Marianne Ratcliffe

  Their frequent trips along the trade route gave Zastra plenty of opportunities to practice reading her charts, and her shipcraft began to improve as she helped guide the Wind of Golmeira in and out of the island settlements. As they made land at one such port, easing themselves in at high tide to avoid grounding on a sandbar that was clearly visible through the clear waters of the bay, Zastra overheard Dastrin and Jagula complaining about the anchorage fees and costs of supplies.

  ‘I’m sure Lord Thorlberd will turn his eye to these settlements,’ remarked Dastrin.

  ‘I hope it is soon. They are ripe for the plucking,’ agreed Jagula. ‘Just the sight of a migaradon would send these people jumping into the sea in fear. I wouldn’t mind a nice beach house, when I retire.’

  They began to tot up what they thought the island was worth and how much reward money they would get for capturing it. Jagula even picked out which house she would like for herself. Zastra felt sick just listening. A group of children were playing on a nearby beach, and seeing her watching, they waved and shouted. She raised her hand in acknowledgement, but with a heavy heart. She fervently hoped that these children would never have to face Thorlberd’s army and his mindweavers, or worst of all, the terrible flying migaradons. They wouldn’t stand a chance. She vowed to do everything in her power to ensure that such a thing never happened.

  The bustling port of Mynganard on the westernmost of the Far Isles was always a welcome sight after the long voyage from Golmeira. Elegant whitewashed houses with roofs of green tiles crowded the gentle slopes that surrounded a wide semi-circular bay. Dastrin, no doubt in return for a bribe, allowed a group of handpicked Far Islanders to come on board the Wind of Golmeira to sell their goods. These tradespeople were open and friendly, well fed and plump. The crew were poor enough, but whenever they docked at Mynganard, Dastrin distributed a portion of their yearly pay and many of the crew were tempted by the wares on offer. Wine was particularly popular, although banned by Dastrin, and several barrels made their way on board for consumption. It seemed that many of the crew thought the punishment barrel a fair price for a night of inebriation and a sore head.

  Those who did not choose to spend their money on the delights offered by the traders of the Far Isles were give a written receipt, which could be exchanged at any Golmeiran Payment Office for money. The few members of the crew who could read and write were in demand at this time. Everyone liked to have independent confirmation that Jagula had written the right amount of money on their receipts, and many wanted them sent to a Payment Office near their homes. Their families would know to collect them and exchange them for money. At such times, Zastra found herself busy checking the slips of paper and writing out addresses for her crewmates. She sent her own receipt to the Payment Office at Kirkholme, with a brief note asking for a message to be left with Miray, the cloth merchant. She hoped Miray would be honest enough to pass the message on. Etta and Dalbric would need the money and the receipt would tell them that she was at least alive. It was the best she could manage. Escape had proven impossible. It seemed the only way to leave the Wind of Golmeira was in a bag, weighted down with rock and destined for the bottom of the ocean.

  Chapter Twenty-two

  The sun was setting over the Karabek Mountains. Kylen crouched silently in the darkness, just beyond the edge of the cone of light that filtered in through a small circular opening above her. The calls of the Kyrgs were muffled by the rock, but she could still hear them. They had been crawling all over that part of the mountain like scrittals all day, ever since a band of exhausted refugees had been careless enough to be spotted as they searched for the secret entrance to the caves. The circle of light was briefly obscured by a pair of ankles. Kylen withdrew further into the shadows, but the ankles moved on. Another pair of legs followed close behind and paused in front of the opening. There was a strange snuffling sound and a low grunt. The circle went dark and Kylen found herself staring into the red face of a Kyrg. She froze, as did the Kyrg. He yelled in excitement and began to paw at the turf that surrounded the entrance, ripping a hole in the mountainside. Kylen retreated back into the network of passageways. She did not bother to be quiet. She wanted the Kyrgs to follow her. She felt a thrill of satisfaction as they scrambled after her, stupid as a herd of blind goats. All passageways save the one leading to the pre-arranged ambush site had been blocked off. The Kyrgs didn’t know it, but they were heading to their death.

  It was pitch dark, but she had practised the route several times and ran her hand lightly against the wall as she jogged forward. She could hear the heavy boots of the pursuing Kyrgs. The air suddenly became cooler and fresher as the narrow passage opened into a cavern. She stepped to one side and yelled a warning. The Kyrgs, sensing a kill, began to run, their boots pounding against the ground as they piled into the cave, where her loyal Sendorans were armed and waiting.

  Kylen felt no pity. The Kyrgs had butchered hundreds of her people during their invasion. They were receiving their just rewards. Besides, it was important to send a message to any Golmeiran or Kyrg who dared enter the Caves of Karabek. And that message was death.

  Once the slaughter was complete, Kylen and her Sendorans retreated deeper into the caves, blocking the passage behind them. That particular entrance had been compromised and could never be used again. As they reached the main cavern, someone piled into Kylen’s side. Reflexively, she dropped to one knee and let her attacker fly over her shoulder before she pinned him to the floor. Warm flesh squirmed beneath her.

  ‘Gerroff! Let me go.’

  ‘Zax?’

  Kylen stood up with a laugh. Her brother jumped up, red faced.

  ‘You left me out, again!’ he protested. ‘You always leave me here, like a baby.’

  ‘You aren’t ready. Look how easily I took you down.’

  ‘I’ll never learn, unless you let me practise on real Kyrgs.’

  ‘This isn’t a game. A Kyrg won’t let you up to have another try if you don’t kill him first time. Where is Alboraz?’

  ‘He’s worse than you are. He won’t even let me scout near the surface.’

  Kylen remembered that she had only been a year older than Zax was now when her father had ordered her to safety, rather than let her fight at Golgannan. It still burned. Maybe it was time to let her brother experience something of battle. A Sendoran soldier should be blooded early. She went in search of Alboraz. Zax followed, pleading his case the whole time. She found the general in discussions with one of his lieutenants.

  ‘Another entrance has been discovered,’ she reported, ‘but we dealt with it.’

  Alboraz unfurled a map. ‘Show me.’

  Kylen indicated the entrance and Alboraz marked it.

  ‘They are persistent, I’ll give them that. But the caves serve us well. The underground lakes give us plenty of water. If only we had more food, I think we could hide here for years.’

  ‘I can hunt,’ Zax piped up.

  ‘It’s too dangerous, lad.’

  ‘At least let me fight. Let me prove myself.’

  Alboraz’s dismissive grunt angered Kylen.

  ‘Zax has a point. It’s time he had his first taste of real fighting. Next time one of our entrances is discovered, he could lead the ambush. There would be little risk, especially if we double our numbers.’

  Alboraz shrugged.

  ‘If you think it wise, my Lady.’ Kylen chose to ignore the contempt in his tone and Zax spent the whole day discussing the ambush, and what tactics they should use. Although his excited chatter made her smile, Kylen couldn’t help hoping it wouldn’t be too soon.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  It was midsummer and the Wind of Golmeira returned from a trip to the Far Isles, re-entering the Sea of Golmeira, as usual, via the narrow Lodaran Straits. As they sat anchored next to the guard ship to await inspection, Mata asked Zastra to take them through the channel.

  ‘I think you are ready. Take it steady. We’re in no hurry.’

  Zastr
a gulped and positioned herself at the helm. She was so nervous that the first order she tried to give died in her throat. It didn’t help that both Jagula and Dastrin were on deck, watching closely. She was sure Dastrin was hoping she would fail. Koltan was rubbing his hands and taking loud bets on her crashing the ship into the side of the channel.

  ‘They need to hear you,’ Mata said quietly.

  Zastra cleared her throat and started calling out her orders. The crew knew the dangers of the Lodaran Straits well enough and did not hesitate to obey. The foresail and mainsail were reefed and they picked their way forward only by the jib and a partly reefed rear sail. Mata stood to one side, offering only an occasional touch of the rudder and whisper of advice as needed. Zastra had successfully negotiated half the passage and was beginning to feel more confident when a treacherous current surged against their prow. The ship veered sharply to port and headed straight towards a jagged rock formation that rose upwards from the sea close to the edge of the channel. Zastra ran to the starboard beam and peered over the side. Dastrin strode towards her.

  ‘What in the stars are you playing at, girl? Alter course immediately!’

  ‘Not yet.’ Zastra held up her palm. If she recalled Mata’s charts correctly, there was a submerged reef nearby and if they turned too quickly she would run the ship aground.

  ‘How dare you—’ Dastrin’s face went puce. Luckily, Jagula interjected.

  ‘She’s right, Captain.’

  ‘Aye.’ Mata nodded in agreement.

  Zastra scoured the choppy waters and then she saw it. A patch of green water, passing close to their hull on the starboard side. The instant the reef was behind them, she returned to the helm. The rock formation loomed ahead, worryingly close. She just hoped there would be enough room to turn the ship. It was fortunate the wind was with them.

  ‘Stand by the jib and prepare to loose the foresail,’ she cried. ‘Lively now!’ The crew needed no urging, leaping to their lines. Zastra spun the wheel and the ship heeled round as neatly as if it were tied to an anchor, the jib filling with wind and drawing the bowsprit around just as the foresail was sheeted into place to drive the ship forward. The treacherous rock formation passed by to their left, so close that Zastra could almost reach out and touch it. Breathing heavily with relief she took them back to the middle of the channel and they negotiated the remainder of the passage without incident.

  ‘Watchmaster Mata, Lieutenant Jagula, my cabin. Now.’ Dastrin did not sound pleased.

  ‘That’s your glory days over, mountain girl.’ Jerenik, as usual, had appeared from nowhere. After a short time Mata emerged from Dastrin’s cabin and beckoned Zastra to follow her to the officers’ mess.

  ‘Do you feel ready to take us west?’ she asked, pulling out a pair of charts.

  ‘You’d trust me to do that? I nearly ran us aground just now.’

  ‘But you didn’t. You kept a calm head and we made it through safely. That’s the main thing.’

  ‘What about Dastrin?’

  Mata gave a thin smile.

  ‘Lieutenant Jagula and I persuaded the captain that you deserved another chance. You had best prove us right. We make for the Western Spur.’

  Mata pointed towards the edge of one of her charts where the Sea of Golmeira was bounded by a range of tall volcanic peaks known as the Smoking Giants.

  ‘What lies beyond?’ Zastra asked.

  ‘No one knows. The Smoking Giants themselves are too dangerous to even set foot upon, with their slopes of boiling rock. The sea around the Spur is always angry and the heat from the Giants means the shoreline is constantly shrouded in mist. Many a ship has misjudged its position in the fog and foundered. If the wind changes to easterly in those parts you’re doomed. It can feel as if the Spur is a living beast, sucking you towards it. If it ever appears on your horizon, turn the ship around immediately. Do not hesitate. The last safe point is the Pyramid Isle, here.’

  Mata pointed to a small dot on the map, far south of the Golmeiran coast and close to the Spur.

  ‘Is that where we’re going?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Why? What’s there?’

  ‘You’ll find out soon enough.’

  Zastra knew better than to probe further. She might be trusted with navigation, but Dastrin shared tactical information with only his officers. She pointed to the bottom edge of the map.

  ‘Where does the Spur end? Can we sail around it?’

  ‘If it has an end, it has never been reached. Ships that pass beyond the edge of this chart do not return. The further south you go, the fiercer the winds become. Strong enough to stop your breath and the waves are like mountains.’ Mata shuddered. ‘I was once aboard a ship that was blown into those waters by an evil storm. I have never been so scared, either before or since. Only a lucky change in the direction of the wind saved us. It sent us back into calmer waters and I’ve never wished to go back.’

  At first, Zastra was pleased to be trusted with the helm and the navigation but the weather conspired to make the journey difficult. They had to fight for every inch of progress against a fractious headwind. A blanket of heavy cloud lay sulkily across the heavens, refusing to allow her to calculate their position from the stars. She was left to make her best guess using shadows cast by the pale light of the sun. Mata made no comment and offered no help as Zastra issued her course corrections. As her confidence evaporated, Zastra began to wonder if Mata’s insistence on leaving her to do things for herself would go as far as allowing her to crash the ship into the Smoking Mountains.

  It was with huge relief and no little satisfaction that she heard the lookout call out that the Pyramid Isle was in sight, if a little further off their port beam than she had calculated. It was well named; its steep sides rose to a sharp point, forming a triangular outline against the grey, overcast sky. As if to taunt her, the headwind died down and gentle breeze from the northeast quarter allowed her to lay the ship on direct course. As the island loomed larger, Zastra suddenly felt uneasy.

  ‘Something is missing. It’s too quiet.’

  Mata nodded grimly. ‘There are no birds. There would normally be flocks of seabirds around an island like that, yet there are none.’

  Zastra took out her telescope and peered toward the island.

  ‘What could have scared them away?’

  A dark object rose from the tip of the pyramid. It was so big that it looked as if part of the island itself had split off. The shape shivered and sprouted wings. Zastra felt a familiar feeling of dread.

  ‘A migaradon.’

  ‘Aye,’ Mata confirmed. ‘We’ve brought supplies. The island itself cannot provide enough food. Migaradons are always hungry.’

  ‘Koltan, get that signal up!’ cried Jagula. At the prow, Koltan fumbled with a stack of wooden signal panels. Each square had a different symbol, painted black against a white background.

  ‘Hurry man. Before it attacks.’

  Koltan slotted four different symbols into a large metal grid and lowered it over the side of the ship, locking it into position between two brackets. The grid could be hung on either side of the ship as required. On this occasion, the grid faced the oncoming migaradon.

  ‘Are we sure it’s the right signal?’ Zastra was not the only one who appeared concerned.

  ‘We’d best hope so,’ remarked Mata drily. ‘Or we’ll not survive the day.’

  Jerenik and Yashni had never seen a migaradon before and they stared in open mouthed astonishment as it flew towards them, its angry metallic shriek hurting their ears. The crew froze as the dark shadow swept over the ship, the relief noticeable as the creature passed harmlessly overhead.

  ‘What is it doing here?’ Zastra asked.

  Mata shrugged. ‘I hear that Grand Marl Thorlberd has stationed many such creatures around the Sea of Golmeira. He wishes to control the seas as he does the land.’

  She ordered Zastra to guide the ship into the narrow inlet that served as a harbour on the Pyramid Isle. T
he water was deep, with no shoals and sandbanks to worry about. That was a relief. It would be disastrous if they ran aground so far from the mainland and with only a migaradon for company. However, the entrance to the inlet was extremely narrow, barely twice the width of the ship, with black rocks rising steeply on either side. Mata watched closely but offered no advice as Zastra ordered the sails be trimmed until barely a hand’s width was left to take the wind and she eased the ship through the entrance to tie up against a wooden jetty. It was the first time the ship had touched land since Zastra had joined the crew. She guessed that Dastrin had no worries about the crew escaping. There was nowhere for them to run.

  ‘Unload the supplies,’ ordered Jagula. A gangway was lowered amidships and Zastra and the others were ordered to carry an assortment of boxes and crates ashore.

  ‘It must eat a lot.’ Jerenik sighed as he deposited one of four large jars of syrup on the jetty. ‘I was hoping these would be for us. You can’t get a better breakfast than fresh rolls and syrup.’

  Zastra dumped her own jar beside his.

  ‘Since we’ve been on this ship, we’ve been given nothing to eat but porridge and salted goat. What made you think they would suddenly start giving us fresh rolls and syrup?’

  ‘I can dream, can’t I? Maybe if we killed that… that thing? Then the food would be going spare.’

  ‘Go ahead,’ suggested Mata drily. ‘No one has ever defeated a migaradon in battle, even when fighting for their lives. But no doubt your hankering after food will provide a better incentive. Just remember that its hide cannot be pierced by any weapon and the rider is a mindweaver who can control your thoughts and freeze you in your tracks.’