by Robin Hobb
He took a deep breath and bellowed out the hated words. ‘I yield! And I beg quarter for my crew. Captain Brashen Trell of the Liveship Paragon yields and surrenders his ship to you.’
It took a moment for his words to penetrate the din. The clatter of swords gradually stilled, but the moaning of the wounded went on. Walking through the mayhem towards Brashen, his moustache elegantly curled, unsullied by blood or sweat, came a one-legged man who could only be Captain Kennit. ‘Already?’ he asked dryly. He gestured at his sheathed weapon. ‘But good sir, I’ve only just come aboard. Are you certain you wish to yield?’ He glanced about at the scattered huddles of survivors. Their weapons lay at their feet, while circles of blades menaced them. The pirate’s smile was white, his voice charming as he offered, ‘I’m sure my lads would be willing to let them pick up their blades for one more try at this. It seems a pity to fail on your very first effort. This was your first effort, wasn’t it?’
The laughter that greeted each of his sallies washed against Brashen like licking flames. He looked down to avoid the despairing eyes of his crew, but found Clef looking up at him. His brimming eyes were full of anguish as he protested, ‘I wouldena given up, sir. I’d a died f’you.’
Brashen let his own weapon fall. He set a hand on the boy’s fair head. ‘I know. That was what I feared.’
And so, a tidy ending after all. Far tidier than he had expected, given all the hitches his original plan had encountered. Kennit did not even bother to step forwards to accept the captain’s weapon. The churl had let it fall to the deck anyway. Had he no concept of the proper way to do things? It was not that Kennit feared to step on the foredeck.
The crew had been too long without a real battle. This one had barely whetted their appetite before it was over. He would have to hunt down a slaver or two and let them indulge themselves. For now, he commanded that the survivors be secured under the hatches. They went docilely enough, expecting that he would soon summon their captain and negotiate terms for ransom. Once they were out of sight, he had his men throw the bodies overboard. The serpents, he noted with disdain, were quick enough to come for this easy meat that they had refused to kill for themselves. Well, let it be, let them think it was bounty from Bolt. Perhaps stopping a slaver or two and feeding the serpents fat again would restore their tractability.
The Althea matter was settled easily enough. There were no women aboard, amongst the living or dead. To Captain Trell’s anguished questions as to whether the Vivacia had taken up any survivors from his ship’s boat, he had only shrugged. If she had been in the ill-fated rowing boat, then it had not managed to return to the ship. He gave a small sigh that might have been relief. He did so hate to lie to Wintrow. He could have an easy conscience when he said that whatever had befallen her was none of his doing.
Trell’s eyes had narrowed as Kennit ordered him below, but he had gone. He had little choice, with three blades hemming him in. The hatch cover had cut off his angry shouts.
Kennit ordered all his men back to his ship, detaining only three with a quiet order that they return with casks of lamp oil. They looked puzzled, but they did not question him. While they were gone, he walked a quiet turn about the decks. His own ship buzzed with victory, but this one muttered with anxious voices from below. Some of the men they had put down the hatches were badly injured. Well, they would not suffer for long.
On the deck were the bloody silhouettes of fallen bodies. The blood marred the well-scrubbed decks. A shame. Captain Trell had run a tight ship; Paragon was as clean as Kennit had ever seen him. Igrot had run a strict ship, but had not been much for spit and polish. When Kennit’s father commanded, the ship had been as cluttered as his home. Kennit walked to the door of the captain’s chamber and paused there. A strange fluttering seized his heart. For a mercy, the charm on his wrist was silent. He walked another turn about the decks. The men below the hatches were quieting. That was good. His three deckhands returned, each bearing a cask of oil.
‘Splash it about, lads, rigging and house and deck. Then get back to our own decks.’ He looked at them gravely, making sure that each knew the seriousness of his words. ‘I’ll be the last man to leave this ship. Do your work and get off him. Cast him loose save for a stern line, and then I want everyone on our ship to go below as well. Understand me? Everyone. I’ve a final errand of my own.’
Ducking and bobbing their obedience, they left him. Kennit stood clear and let them perform their duty. When the last empty cask was rolling on the deck, he motioned for them to leave. Finally alone, he made his way forwards through the buffeting wind and stood on the deck looking down on Paragon’s bowed head.
If the ship looked up at him, if he had had to meet eyes that were angry or defiant or sad or overjoyed to see him, he could not have spoken. But, foolish thought, that! Paragon could not look up at him with any sort of eyes. Igrot had seen to that years ago. Kennit had wielded the hatchet, standing on Paragon’s great hands to reach his ship’s face. Together, they had endured that, because Igrot had promised them both that if they did not, Kennit would die. Igrot had stood on this deck, where Kennit stood now, and watched and laughed while Kennit did the dirty task. Paragon had already killed two good hands that Igrot had sent to blind him. But he would not hurt the boy, oh, no. He would stand the pain, and even hold the boy close enough to reach his face so he could do the job, as long as Igrot promised not to kill Kennit. And as Kennit had looked deep into his dark eyes one final time and then ruined them with the rising and falling of his hatchet, he had known that no one should love anyone or anything that deeply. No one should have a heart that true. He had known then that never, never, never would he love anyone or anything as Paragon loved him. He had promised it to himself, and then he had lifted the shining hatchet and chopped into the dark eyes so full of love for him. Beneath them he found nothing, not blood, not flesh, only silvery grey wood that splintered easily away under his small hatchet. Wizardwood, he had been told, was among the hardest woods a ship could be built from, but he chopped it away like cottonwood, falling in chips and chunks into the deep cold sea beneath his bare feet. Little cold feet, so callused against his warm palm.
The double strength of the mutually relived memory seared him. Kennit could recall vision falling from him in pieces, not at all as a man would have lost his sight. Rather it was like someone cut away pieces of a picture before his eyes, leaving him in blackness. He trembled suddenly and vertigo took him. When he came back to himself, he was clutching the forerail. A mistake. He had not intended to touch any part of the ship with his bare hands, yet here he was. Linked again. Bound by blood and memories.
‘Paragon.’ He said the name quietly.
The ship flinched, but did not lift his head. A long silence wrapped them. Then: ‘Kennit. Kennit, my boy.’ His deep gentle voice was choked. Incredulous recognition overwhelmed all other emotions. ‘I was so angry with you,’ the ship apologized in wonder. ‘How could I ever be angry with you?’
Kennit cleared his throat. It was a little time before he could speak. ‘I never thought to stand here again, nor speak to you once more.’ Love was rising from the ship like a flood tide, threatening to engulf him. Kennit fought to hold himself apart from Paragon. He forced out the rebuke. ‘This is not what we planned, ship. This is not what we agreed upon at all.’
‘I know.’ Paragon spoke into his hands, cupped over his face. Shame swept through him and touched Kennit as well. ‘I know. I tried. I did try.’
‘What happened?’ Despite himself, Kennit spoke gently. He did not really want to know. Paragon’s rich deep voice reminded him of thick treacle over morning cakes, of warm summer days running on his decks barefoot while his mother begged his father to make the boy be more cautious. Memories, all those memories had soaked into the wood of this ship and were bleeding up into him.
‘I went down to the bottom and stayed there. I did. Or I tried. No matter how much water I let in, I could not sink all the way. But I stayed under and I sta
yed hidden. Fish and crabs came. They picked clean the bones. I felt purified. All was silent and cold and wet.
‘But then serpents came. They talked to me. I knew I could not understand them, but they insisted I did. They tormented me, asking me questions, demanding things of me. They wanted memories, they begged for memories, but I kept my word to you. I kept our secrets. It made them angry. They cursed me, and they taunted me and mocked me and…I had to, don’t you see? I knew I had to be dead and forgotten by all but they would not let me be dead and forgotten. They kept making me remember. I had to get away from them. And…then somehow I was in Bingtown again, and they righted me and I feared they would sail me but they dragged me up on shore and chained me there. So I could not be dead. But I did my best to forget. And to be forgotten.’
The ship drew a ragged breath.
‘Yet you are here,’ Kennit pointed out. ‘And not only here, but carrying folk who would kill me. Why, ship? Why did you betray me like that?’ True agony choked him. ‘Why do you make us both face this all over again?’
Paragon reached up to seize handfuls of his hair and drag at it. ‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he cried. The penitent boy’s voice came oddly from those bearded lips. ‘I did not mean to. They did not come to kill you. They only wanted Althea’s ship back. They were going to offer to buy Vivacia back from you. I knew they did not have enough coin for that, but at one point I hoped that when you saw me, clean and well-rigged and riding level in the water, you would want me back. That perhaps you would take me in trade.’ The voice was rising to an edge of anger now. Paragon’s first shock at his presence was wearing off. ‘I thought a Ludluck might want his rightful liveship instead of one he had stolen! I had heard from the lips of a pirate that you had said you had always wanted a liveship like her. But you’d had one. Me.
‘Remember that night? The night you said that you had to kill yourself because you could not go on with such memories? And it was I who thought of it, I who said I would take all the memories, the pain memories, the bad memories, even the good memories of times that could never come again, and I would take them and die so that you could live and be free of them. I thought of how we could end them all. I took them all with me, everyone who knew what had been done to you. Remember? I purified your life for you, so you could go on living. And you said you would never love another ship as you had loved me, that you would never want to love another ship as we had loved. Don’t you remember that?’
The abandoned memory burned up from Kennit’s clutching hands to his shaking soul and settled there. Every detail, every emotion came with it. He had forgotten how painful true remembering was.
‘You promised,’ Paragon went on in a shaking voice. ‘You promised and you broke that promise, just as I broke mine. So we are even.’
Even. A boy’s concept. But the soul of Paragon had always been a boy’s soul, abandoned and forsaken. Perhaps only another boy could have won his love as Kennit had. Perhaps only a boy who had been as abused and neglected as Paragon could have stood by Kennit’s side through the long days of Igrot’s reign. But Paragon had remained a boy, with a boy’s logic, while Kennit had grown to be a man. A man could face hard truths, and know that life was seldom even or fair. And another hard truth: the shortest distance between a man and his goal was often a lie.
‘You think I love her?’ Kennit was incredulous. ‘How could I? Paragon, she is not blood of my blood. What could we share? Memories? I cannot. I have already entrusted them all to you. You hold my heart, ship, as you always have. I love you, Paragon. Only you. Ship, I am you, and you are me. Everything I am, or was, is locked within you. Safe and secret still … unless you have divulged it to others?’ Kennit asked the question cautiously.
‘Never,’ the ship declared devoutly.
‘Well. That is good. For now. But we both know there is only one way they can be truly safe forever. Only one way to keep our secrets hidden.’
A silence followed his words. Kennit let it be. A quietness was growing in him, a certainty. He should never have doubted Paragon. His ship was true to him, as it always had been. He seized that thought and let it grow in his heart. He basked in the warmth of it, and shared that security with Paragon. For this time only, he let himself love the ship as he once had. He loved him with the complete faith that Paragon would decide to do what was best for Kennit.
‘What about my crew?’ Paragon asked wearily.
‘Take them with you.’ Kennit made the suggestion gently. ‘They served you as best they could. Keep them safe forever inside you. Never be parted from them.’
Paragon took a breath. ‘They will not like dying. None of them want to die.’
‘Well. But you and I know that dying only takes a little time for humans. They will get over it.’
Paragon’s hesitation this time was longer. ‘I don’t know if I really can die, you know.’ A space of a breath. ‘Last time, I couldn’t even stay down there. Wood wants to float.’ A longer pause. ‘And Brashen is locked below, too. I made a little promise to him, Kennit. I promised him I wouldn’t kill him.’
Kennit knit his brows thoughtfully and let Paragon feel his studied consideration of the matter. At last he offered kindly, ‘Do you want me to help you? Then you wouldn’t be breaking your promise. None of it would be your fault.’
At last the ship swivelled his great head towards Kennit. The chopped place that had been his eyes seemed to regard him. The pirate studied the features he knew as well as his own. The shaggy head, the lofty brow, the strong nose above the fine mouth and bearded chin. Paragon, his Paragon, best of all possible ships. His heart swelled painfully with love of his ship. Tears for both of them stung his eyes. ‘Could you?’ Paragon pleaded quietly.
‘Of course I could. Of course,’ Kennit comforted him.
After Kennit left his decks, silence flowed in and filled him. It was a silence not of the ears but of the heart. There were other noises in the world: the questioning cries of the crew inside his battened-down holds, the trumpeting of the departing serpents, the rising winds, the small sound of a stern line being released, the crackling of flames. He swung free suddenly in a gust of wind. No one was on the wheel to check his motion as the building storm pushed against his venom-tattered sails. There was a sudden whoosh and a blast of heat as the fire ran his rigging. More sure-footed than any sailor, the flames fanned out, devouring canvas and licking wood.
It would take time to spread. Wizardwood did not kindle easily, but once it took flame, it was near unquenchable. The other wood of his house and his rigging would burn first, but eventually the wizardwood would ignite. He had learned patience well. He could wait. The only distraction from his patience was his crew, hammering on the hatch covers now. No doubt, they felt him drifting; perhaps they smelled the smoke.
Resolutely he distracted himself. His boy was a man now. He was tall, from the direction of his voice. And strong. The grip on his railing had been a man’s firm grip. Paragon shook his head in loving pride. He had succeeded. The sacrifice had not been in vain. Kennit had grown to be the man they had always dreamed he would be. Amazing, how the sound of his voice and the touch of his hand, even his scent on the breeze had brought it all back. The sound of his voice saying ‘Paragon’ had erased all the imagined slights and hoarded transgressions that had allowed the ship to be angry with him. The very thought now seemed foolish. Angry with the only one who had ever loved him whole-heartedly? Yes, Paragon had sacrificed for him, but what else could he have done? Someone had to set Kennit free. And he had. Now his boy would reign as King of the Pirate Isles, and someday, just as they had planned, he would have a son and name him Paragon. Some day there would be a Paragon Ludluck that was loved and cherished. Perhaps there already was! Paragon wished desperately now that he had thought to ask Kennit if he had a son yet. It would have been comforting to know that the child they had imagined was real.
Down inside him, the crew had torn something loose and were using it for a battering ram again
st his hatchcover. They did not seem to be doing it with much energy. Perhaps his hold was filling up with smoke. That would be good; they could all just go to sleep and die.
Paragon sighed and let himself list, just a little, as he always did if he wasn’t thinking about it. It wasn’t his fault. It was a flaw in his construction, the sort of thing that was bound to happen when a ship was built from two different logs of wizardwood. One dragon would always try to dominate the other. Fight, fight, fight, that was all they ever did, until he was sick of trying to make sense of those other selves. He had pushed them down deep and decided to be just Paragon. Paragon Ludluck. He said the name aloud, but softly. He closed his mouth. He stopped breathing. He didn’t really need to breathe, that was just a part of the shape they had given him. It was a shape he could change, if he thought about it carefully. Each carefully-fitted plank of wizardwood could shift, just a tiny bit. For a time, he felt nothing. Then he knew the slow chill of water sheening down the inside of his planking. Slowly, ever so slowly he began to grow heavier. He let himself list more. Inside him, the crew began to be aware of it. There were shouts, and the thunder of feet as men ran to try to find where the water was coming in. Every seam oozed water. The only question that remained now was whether the fire or the sea would take him first. Whichever won, it would not be his fault. He crossed his arms on his chest, faced into the rising storm and composed himself for death.
‘I thought you’d want to make the decision yourself, sir.’ Jola stood very stiff. He knew he ventured onto dangerous ground, but he was sage enough to realize that not to defer this to Kennit would have been even more dangerous. Still, Kennit rather wished the mate had just let them drown. It would have been so much tidier.
He leaned over the railing and looked down at the woman in the water. She was obviously strong, but the cold water was taking its toll on her, as was the rising chop of the waves. Soon it would all be over. Even as he watched, a wave washed over her. Surprisingly, her head reappeared. She was treading water doggedly. She could have lasted longer if she had let go of her companion. The sailor in her arms looked dead anyway. The blonde woman in the water rolled her head back and coughed. ‘Please.’ She was too weak to shout, but he read it formed on her lips. Please. Kennit scratched the side of his beard thoughtfully. ‘She’s from the Paragon,’ he observed to Jola.