She let the dress soak, and unlaced her corset. She removed her undergarments one at a time and placed them on the rocks near the small waterfall that fed the pool. When only water touched her skin, she soaked her hair and scrubbed, washing away the blood and sweat. Chilled, but clean, she considered her situation. Her hunger had diminished with the copious amount of blood she had consumed the previous day, but even when sated, the voice of the demon reminded her of how sweet the blood tasted, how it quenched her thirst. Camilla sighed and began to scrub the dress, working the stiff material until the bloody water began to clear.
Lost in her own thoughts and oblivious to any noise but the rush of the waterfall, she didn’t hear the soft splash of the man who entered the pool behind her. She did, however, hear his heartbeat as he neared, and turned in time to see the wicked obsidian dagger ready to plunge into her back. She whirled to block the blade, but the water hampered her movement. The serrated edge sliced her arm, and the tip pierced her shoulder, driving in to the hilt. She caught his wrist, rage igniting in her, both hers and the demon’s.
Take him!
For a moment she met the man’s eyes, felt him strain against her grip as she dug her claws deep into his forearm. She saw the terror in him, felt his fluttering heart, and pulled him close. Camilla opened her mouth wide, sank her teeth into the man’s throat, and drank his life dry. Finished, she lifted his body and flung it onto the shore. The cannibals backed away, staring at her in awe and fear.
Yes, she thought, you will fear me.
With the rage of the demon still burning in her veins, she strode from the pool. She stood over the man’s corpse and glared at them. It was time to show them what she was. She drew the knife from her shoulder and let the black ichor drip in smoldering droplets to the grass as the wound closed before their eyes. She looked at the blade, and let the demon’s horrible laughter bubble up from her throat. The tribe quailed before her.
“I am the Blood Demon!” she roared, her voice nothing that could issue from the lips of a mortal woman. “To attack me is death!” She flung the dagger aside and pointed down at the corpse. “For his disrespect, you will bring me a sacrifice tomorrow at sunset! Do not disobey me.”
She turned her back on them and strode back into the pool. The water flushed red then cleared as she cleansed herself of the new blood. The sounds of the tribe carrying off the man’s corpse receded behind her, the murmurs of “Blood Demon” fading into the jungle. When they were gone, and she knew she was alone, she donned the water-soaked crimson dress.
≈
Feldrin woke to utter darkness and a subtle difference in the ship’s motion. There was a moment of disorientation as he blinked into the blackness, then he remembered the cloth tied over his eyes, an old sailor’s trick for off-watch sleeping during the day. As he unwound the cloth, a knock sounded at the cabin door.
“Captain?” Horace peeked in, a look of chagrin on his weathered face. “Sorry to wake ya, sir, but yer wife said to tell you that the trade winds are comin’ back. We got maybe ten knots from the east.”
“Bloody fine!” Feldrin pushed himself up from the bunk and reached for his trousers and the accursed contraption that strapped to the stump of his right leg. “Tell her I’ll be up in a trice.”
“Aye, sir.”
Horace left him to finish dressing, and when the straps of his peg leg were duly tightened, he made his laborious way up to the deck. Here he was greeted by more smiles than he’d seen in a month. Even Chula was grinning. Everyone was facing to windward, and every eye was fixed on the light chop that rippled the surface of the sea. There was even an occasional skip of white, the first caps they had seen in almost twenty days.
“Isn’t it glorious?” Cynthia said, and her smile was like a sunrise in his eyes. Mouse tore around the deck in a streak of silvery wings, chirping and crying out his glee, pulling on pigtails and tweaking ears all around.
“Aye, that it is, lass.” Every stitch of sail that Orin’s Pride could bear shone white against the blue sky, full and drawing, propelling the ship at an easy eight to ten knots. “It’ll only pick up from here. I’m thinkin’ we’ll make the Fathomless Reaches by tomorrow.”
“And Plume the day after,” she said. Her smile faded, and her lips pressed in a thin line. He knew what she was going to say even before she opened her mouth. “Do you think she was telling the truth, Feldrin? Samantha, I mean. About Plume Isle.”
“About everyone there bein’ killed?” he said, lowering his voice to reach only her ears. They had kept the girl’s claim to themselves, not wanting to damage morale with a rumor they could not confirm. It did, however, weigh heavily on their minds. “Dunno, lass. Seems a far stretch, but I suppose it’s possible. Why?”
“Just thinking that we should be careful.” She bit her lip and nodded to the north. “We don’t know what we’re sailing into, and the Pride and her crew have been through a lot.”
“Aye, that’s a fact,” he agreed. A full dozen sailors were seriously wounded, the mainmast was still fractured, though stable for the moment, and the hull was rough and splintered where the vile eel-like creatures had tried to gnaw through. “No doubt we could use a healer and a shipyard before we sail into a fight. You could send yer mer friends ahead for a look.”
“I’d rather not, Feldrin. Chaser and Tailwalker have been through too much already. I was thinking of sending them home.”
“Aye, I can understand that. You want to stop off at Vulture Isle?”
“That seems the best course to me,” she said. “They have a healer, and they might have some news. We can’t take the Pride into the lagoon, but if we kedge her over in the shallows, we can tend to the worst of the damage below the waterline. I wouldn’t want to try replanking her at sea, but some caulking and a patch or two wouldn’t be hard.”
“Aye, gettin’ the wounded off her would be best anyways, and mayhap we can barter for a bit of fresh greens. I’m dyin’ fer one of Cook’s mango salads.” He clasped her hand and squeezed. “I’ll order the course change when we raise the plume from Fire Isle. We’ll see that long before we sight land.”
“Good.” She sighed and clutched his hand. “I just hope that girl was lying…”
Chapter 8
Reunions
“A ship comes! A schooner!”
Paska bolted to her feet so fast that she upset the carefully spooled coil of fishing line she’d been helping one of the youngsters make. The newly waxed line fell into the sand, the sticky wax fouled with grit; the thinly braided gut would have to be boiled again and rewaxed. The youth snapped a curse and glared at her, but she had already forgotten him.
“Quepa!” she called to the breathless lookout who had just sprinted into the village clearing. “A schooner, you say? Just one?”
“Yes, Paska. Only one. To the south.” The young woman bent over with her hands on her knees, panting to regain her breath after the mile-long run from the lookout on the high rocks. “It’s sailing right for the island.”
Paska’s heart leapt in her chest. She grasped Quepa’s arm and pulled her upright. “How many masts?”
“Masts? I don’t…”
“You must have seen!” Paska squeezed the woman’s arm, hysteria edging her voice. “Two or three masts, Quepa?”
“They were sailing straight at the island,” the woman said, jerking her arm from Paska’s grip. “And they’re still very far away. I couldn’t tell how many masts.”
“But you’re sure there was only one ship, not two sailing one in front of the other?”
“Yes, I’m sure,” Quepa said. “There was only one ship.”
“What the bloody blue blazes is goin’ on now?” Dura asked as she limped over.
“Dey’ve sighted a schooner comin’ from de sout’, Dura, but only one.”
“A schooner!”
Dura said, her eyebrows shooting up. “Praise the Maker! Which schooner?”
“I don’t know!” Paska snapped, her hysteria mounting by the moment. “But only one means dat one ship is gone! My Chula could be—”
“We won’t be knowin’ ‘til they get here, so don’t go worryin’ yet,” Dura said. She awkwardly gripped Paska’s hand. “We’ll know soon enough.”
Paska considered running up to the lookout point herself, but dismissed the idea. There was a better way. She shook off the dwarf’s grip and shouted, “Tipos!” She ran over to his hut and shouted again, louder this time.
“What?” He emerged rubbing sleep from his eyes and adjusting his loincloth.
“A schooner be comin’, an’ we’re takin’ Flothrindel out to meet ‘em!” Paska declared, glaring at Tipos as if daring him to suggest otherwise.
“Good! You pilot and I’ll tend de sails.” Tipos ran a finger down her arm and smiled. “You must be happy; Chula comin’ back to you!”
Paska smacked his hand away and glared at him. “One schooner’s comin’, Tipos, not two. But we don’t know which one it is.”
Tipos’ eyes grew wide and his smile fell.
“Well, go on, then,” Dura urged. “Stop frettin’ about it an’ do somethin’!”
“Dura, watch little Koybur for me,” Paska said, waving her hand toward her son, who was playing in the sand.
“Sure, you jist get goin’.” The dwarf looked skeptically at the baby.
“Come on, Tipos!” Paska said, grabbing his arm. “Dey’ll prob’ly anchor in dat sandy patch off de west reef, and I wanna be dere when dey do!”
“Okay, okay!” Tipos agreed, following her toward the beach without resistance.
≈
*I’m sorry, Trident Holder, but we could not locate the source of the sea magic.* The young scout fluttered her fins in unease and twisted a strand of her colorful shell jewelry—her namesake—around her finger. Shelly was one of Broadtail’s offspring from his second brood, and had inherited his sea sense. Her companion, Farsee, eldest offspring of Broadtail’s sister, also had sea sense, and he also looked worried. *But there are many warships at the seamage’s island, and we also found a partially sunken ship.*
*Warships?* Broadtail’s colors shifted pale for a moment as he shared their worry. *How many warships, Shelly?*
*Fifteen, Father,* she signed.
*Fifteen!* Broadtail paled again; that was enough landwalkers to destroy the entire mer city! *This is dire indeed…* He flicked his tail in consternation, then remembered what else Shelly had said. *And the sunken ship; is it wrecked on a reef? What kind of ship is it, and where?*
*It was not wrecked, but lays partially sunken inside a lagoon, at the third island north of the great trench. Its hull was crushed, though it lays on sand, not coral or rock, and it stinks of blood and rot. As to what kind of ship…* She wrinkled her brow and looked to Farsee.
*It is not a warship, and not one of the seamage’s ships,* Farsee reported. *It is very large, with three of the things that stick up and hold cloth to catch the wind.*
Broadtail ground his teeth together, perplexed. What could crush a ship and leave it laying on the sand? A sea drake, certainly, but they wouldn’t enter a lagoon.
*The crushing of the ship could have been the magic you felt,* Shelly offered. *The wood was pushed in on both sides, like a great hand had gripped the hull, but the anchor was still in the sand. There were no landwalker bodies.*
*Perhaps…* He thought about it for a time, and agreed with her assessment. But there was one more thing that he had to do, and that concerned the warships. *Spread the word, Shelly; no mer surfaces within sight of one of these warships. We do not know where they may go, so we will watch, but carefully. We have attacked them, and they still believe we are at war. We cannot allow them to discover where our home is.*
*Yes, Father,* she signed, sculling backward with a nod of acquiescence.
*Well done, my daughter,* he signed, flaring his fins in approval. *You have both done very well. Now go and spread the word among the school.*
Shelly and Farsee flushed dark with pleasure at the praise and darted off to do as he bid, leaving the trident holder to worry alone.
≈
“Bring her close enough to the reef’s lee to get us outta these bloody swells, Horace. Set fore and aft anchors, then rig kedges on her port side, but don’t careen her over yet. We’ll get the wounded off first, then get to work repairin’ the hull.”
“Aye, sir!”
Feldrin turned away as his orders rang out from his mate to crew.
Orin’s Pride sailed into position, easing to a stop with her bow in the wind. The new main anchor, cobbled together from spare parts to replace the one lost at Akrotia, splashed into the sea. As the crew worked to rig a stern anchor, a flash of white caught Feldrin’s eye. A small boat was racing around the bend in the reef toward them.
“That’s Flothrindel approaching!” called the lookout.
Feldrin admired the boat as she cut a line toward them. That she was here wasn’t unusual; the natives often used her to run messages or people between Vulture and Plume. Then he heard Paska’s voice shouting out above the roar of the nearby surf, and smiled.
“Capt’n, sir!” Chula darted up and snapped a salute, though his gaze remained fixed on the approaching smack. “Request permission to leave de ship to greet me wife properly!”
“Well, I suppose we can spare you fer a bit, Chula.” Feldrin clapped the man on the shoulder, wondering that he’d even had the presence of mind to ask permission. “Go to her, man, before she runs Flothrindel into our side.”
“T’ank’e, sir!” Chula whirled away, already stripping off his baldric. Three long strides took him to the rail. He leapt up, grasped a shroud and shouted, “Paska!”
He dove into the azure water as Paska cried out his name, and the little smack rounded up into the wind, her sails luffing, the tiller forgotten. The crew cheered as their boatswain swam with powerful strokes and was pulled aboard Flothrindel by his wife’s eager hands. The two embraced with such ferocity that they toppled over into the cockpit, a tangle of wet arms and legs. Laughter broke out as the little boat bore off the wind, and Tipos struggled to handle both sails and tiller while avoiding stepping on the couple. Eventually he worked the boat to the schooner’s side and caught a line tossed down to him. By that time the tumultuous couple had regained their feet, as well as their composure, though they paid little attention to anything but one another.
Feldrin felt a gentle hand on his arm. Cynthia had come on deck, Kloe yawning in her arms, and now looked toward Paska and Chula with mixed emotions on her face.
“It’s good to see them back together,” she sighed. “Not taking Paska along was one of the hardest decisions I’ve ever made. But why Flothrindel is here…I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
“We’ll know soon enough, lass,” Feldrin said, giving her hand a squeeze. He knew that Samantha’s tale of an attack on Plume Isle weighed heavy on her mind. Mouse buzzed a silver streak around their heads while they waited for their friends to board. Paska and Chula clung desperately to each other, whispering softly, but Tipos’ countenance was more dire.
“Capt’n Feldrin, sir. Mistress Flaxal. What happened to de odda ship?”
“Peggy’s Dream was lost, Tipos,” Cynthia said. “Both ships were attacked, and the Dream was overwhelmed. Chula burned her to save the crew.”
“Shambata Daroo!” Paska stepped over, beaming at Kloe. “You be findin’ your baby!”
“Yes. This is Kloe. We named him after Ghelfan.” Cynthia’s tone, thick with emotion, caught Paska’s attention and the woman looked around the crowd of bandaged sailors. Before she could ask another question, Feldrin stepped up and put a hand on Cynthia’s arm.
“Why don’t we all go below and exchange stories. Horace!” he called to his first mate. “Ready the launch and Flothrindel to transport the injured ashore.”
≈
Cynthia could barely descend the companionway stairs for her trembling, and was grateful when Paska took Kloe from her, snuggling and cooing to the baby. Feldrin’s strong hand was warm on her shoulder, and she drew strength from his touch. They took seats in the main mess, and Cook set out a plate of ship’s biscuits, a pot of preserves, and tea and blackbrew for everyone. Finally Cynthia could stand no more waiting.
“What happened on Plume Isle? Samantha told us there had been an attack.”
“Samantha told you?” Paska sneered. “How…”
“Norris’ daughter followed us to Akrotia with Manta,” Feldrin explained. “She killed Ghelfan and tried to kill us.”
“Killed Ghelfan!” She looked down at Kloe in understanding. “She was on Plume when de pirates and dem cannibals attacked.”
“Cannibals?” Cynthia’s stomach lurched.
“Aye! A whole bloody ship full of ‘em! Tim seen her orderin’ dem about, and consortin’ with dem pirates. Dey…I’m sorry, Shambata Daroo, but dey killed a bunch of people, den pillaged and burnt…everyt’ing.”
Cynthia gripped the table as Paska’s words flayed her heart. If she had only been there…
Paska told of the attack, and of Camilla’s decision to stay behind while the others fled. Cynthia gasped at that, but waved the woman on, anxious to hear the whole tale. Paska and Tipos’ words tumbled over each other as they described his trip to Tsing, the occupation of Plume Isle by Joslan’s forces, and his refusal to let them go after the captives. Suddenly they stopped and gave one another solemn, sidelong looks.
Scimitar War Page 11