Sayri's Whisper: The Great Link Book 1

by Daniel J. Rothery

  The crewman’s hand had slipped up to the collar of his stole, and tightened as the man showed his teeth. He was frighteningly strong, Jodhrik realized. “Drowning in sand is the worst sort of death. How lucky you folk, with all your water here.”

  Jodhrik could hear the gentle waves lapping against the side of the ship; it was calm and the water was warm, but that wouldn’t help him, since he could only nominally swim and his stole would weigh him down as surely as stone.

  “I . . . crewman,” Jodhrik began, but the man pulled suddenly on his lapel and twisted, and the words were choked off. The belaying pin was under his throat, then, and his eyes bulged as the man pushed his chin upwards until he could see only the stars above him. More stars, spinning into view from a lack of air, began to mingle among them.

  “Godsack . . . godsack!” the man hissed, almost a chant, directly into Jodhrik’s ear, the hard wood of the pin pressing his throat closed. “Let’s go for a swim, godsack.” He turned around, swinging Jodhrik backwards toward the rail.

  In the midst of going over, Jodhrik suddenly felt himself pulled the opposite way. The crewman dragged him away from the rail as he himself was being drawn back. A broad, meaty hand was around his neck, hairy fingers dug deeply into the flesh of his throat from behind. The crewman’s eyes were great white orbs and his face was purple, the squeezing force obviously so intense that even from behind, it cut off both air and blood. Then, as he released Jodhrik entirely and the belaying pin dropped to the deck with a clatter, a second hand came up around the man’s throat and squeezed. Jodhrik heard a gurgling sound, following by a crunch, then silence. The crewman dropped quietly to the deck as well, and Jodhrik stood entranced, staring at the bungman, dark eyes gazing back at him from under a dark, cavernous brow.

  ・

  “There!” a crewman shouted from where he hung near the masthead. He pointed out across the water, and the captain directed the ship after his gesture.

  Soon after the men were dragging a corpse out of the water and dropping it on the deck. Pale as death, the man was still clearly recognizable. The scarf Jodhrik had found at the man’s belt was still tied around his neck, the way the Wastelander often wore it.

  “Blooda was’landas don’ belong on no ship,” someone said as the crew stood around the body.

  The captain was scowling, his cloak ruffling in the breeze. The wind had picked up over the last day, leading great grey clouds that rolled overhead, and was colder than previously. He looked away from the body, his eyes narrowing as he peered into the distance, hooking his thumbs in his belt. “Storm’s coming. Might be big. Put this one on salt,” he said, gesturing at the dead sailor, “and get to the sails. Let’s see if we can outrun her!”

  The men scattered, a few carrying the corpse below to be folded into a barrel in the cargo hold. The rest went immediately to their stations.

  All except the steward. He stood near Jodhrik, frowning at him. He was the first man Jodhrik had met, that day he asked after passage on board, and he had not spoken to him since. Stains from cooking were on his apron—the steward maintained his obese stature with constant proximity to the food supplies—and the man was covered with the sweat that always seemed to slick his pallid skin, despite the weather.

  “Pros’lit,” he said, “Y’ bin a’decks wis d’ was’landa when’s ‘e fell?”

  “Yes . . . but I was sleeping,” Jodhrik replied. “Not so strong with my ale, I fear,” he added weakly.

  The steward nodded. He didn’t say anymore, but he stood there a good long time on deck, looking at Jodhrik, before finally lumbering back belowdecks.

  ・ ・

  Another night without sleep. Not just because of the storm, which increasingly tossed the ship about like a toy as the night wore on, but also because of the Wastelander crewman’s one-eyed face, which seemed to be waiting over Jodhrik’s cot every time he closed his eyes.

  He had adopted the sailors’ technique of sleeping at an angle on his cot with one foot planted against the opposite wall, to reduce rolling to and fro with the waves. These, however, rocked the ship bow to stern as much as port to starboard, so that his head frequently bumped against the wall at the head of his cot.

  Still, the death of the crewman haunted him. Again he let his mind play through the sequence of events, wondering if he could have changed the result. He had caused the death of a man! It had not been his intent, and certainly not his desire, yet he had played a role, and it tortured him. How could a man of the spirit be involved in such an atrocity? He imagined having to explain himself to the Great Master, and shuddered.

  Water showered down on the deck overhead, as it had for some time now; the captain had assured him that the ship’s narrow freeboard may have meant a low deckline, but it had proven its worth in storm after storm, and was in no danger of foundering. It was a weak reassurance, and coupled with the guilt Jodhrik was inflicting upon himself, he was becoming thoroughly sick.

  I could have just run away, he told himself again for the umpteenth time. Kicked his jewels and ran to find other crewmen. There were plenty on deck.

  He squeezed his eyes tightly shut, holding his breath. Was being the indirect cause of a man’s death a crime against the Great Link?

  The ship rose up again at an angle, higher than before, then continued higher still; Jodhrik pressed both hands against opposing walls of the narrow cabin in an attempt to stabilize himself. There was moment of stillness. Then, terrifyingly, the deck tilted sharply forward, twisting as it tumbled to his right. Was the ship flying? Somewhere above, he heard something rolling and slamming against the starboard rail, then several more. Crewmen? Cages?

  Then the bow of the ship struck down on the water. It felt like slamming down on rock; Jodhrik felt his air pressed out of him. A resounding crack reverberated throughout the ship, and he felt it shudder. Then the ship started moving strangely; undulating. The walls around him flexed; he heard water rushing under him.

  Is that water under the ship, or in the cargo hold?

  Someone was hollering up on deck—the captain. The ship undulated again, slithering side to side like a great serpent. Jodhrik leapt to his feet, then was slammed back down by the ship heaving sideways. He rolled across the cot, overturning it, and fell on the floor. His head struck the floorboards, and stars dancing across his vision as it clouded to black.

  Water came roaring down the hallway and flowed into his room; Jodhrik sputtered in it, face down in a finger’s depth of sea water. He shook his head to clear it, and tried to get to his feet.

  The ship tossed again; no, it shifted, the deck rotating at an angle. Jodhrik was slammed against the wall at the head of his cot as the floor tilted up at a steep angle. At the same time, the floorboards squealed horribly, twisted sideways, separating from each other as they were forced to bend into a curve. Boards snapped wickedly, throwing fountains of water into the air. Not just from the boards breaking, Jodhrik realized—water was being forced up from below!

  His cabin was filling with water. He was swimming now, and his stole threatened to drag him under; Jodhrik quickly pulled it off, discarding it. He looked across to the door at opposite side of his cabin, a mere two paces away, but seemingly insurmountable now; the cabin was tilted steeply away from the door so that it was well above him, and the water was nearly too deep for him to find purchase below.

  Somewhere above Jodhrik heard voices yelling; perhaps they had been all along. The ship rolled again, and another terrific fracture shook the ship. A moment later the voices abruptly ceased.

  I’m going to die here, Jodhrik thought to himself.

  Abruptly the deck flattened, as though something had let go. The water rushed out of his cabin, and he lurched to throw himself through the door. It wasn’t necessary, however; the water in his cabin propelled him through it, and out into the hallway.

  The deck seemed flat and relatively stable; far more than it had been throughout the storm, which Jodhrik heard raging outside. For some rea
son it seemed an ominous development.

  The water was shallow here, though it was flowing up through the partially shattered boards below his feet. The ladder to the deck was only a few paces away; he raced toward it, splashing through ankle deep water that rose as he ran through it.

  Reaching the ladder, he nearly launched himself up it and staggered on to the deck. The sky was dark and brooding, the wind howling. There was no mast, and the bow was under water. There were no crewmen in sight!

  He turned aft, ready to call for the captain, but the stern of the ship was gone.

  For a moment Jodhrik just stood there in shock, wind and rain churning around him in the darkness, the deck washing gently below him, half submerged.

  He heard a cry from the bow, and spun. Before he could locate the source of the sound, another great wave crashed over the deck, sweeping him onto his back, and toward the rail.

  Jodhrik rolled onto his belly and grabbed desperately for anything to halt his slide, but nothing was within reach. He saw the rail racing at him, and opened his arms to wrap them around it. He slammed into the rail with terrific force, his legs whipping up into the air, but somehow he held on. As his legs swung into the sea, he felt something break—he wasn’t sure if it was the rail, or his arm—and he was in the water. The rail shattered, a section of broken mast that had been resting on it slid off, and it struck him in the head.

  The water was warm.

  17 THE BUNGMAN

  He had been in a strange nest for a long time now. The others had somehow pulled out the roots on one side of the small nest they had put him in—without any trouble; it must be easier from the outside—and he thought they were going to let him go, or eat him. But they poked him with sticks until he ran out, then hit him with sticks until he ran away, right into another nest. This one was bigger, big enough to stand up in. He was glad whatever had made the nest was gone.

  When he was inside, the others took off the skin covering the nest, and he saw it was all roots except the ground! There was no tree, which was very confusing. All the roots were so tough and the ground was too hard; he tried for days, but couldn’t break or dislodge one.

  The others moved the nest using two more big prey, dragging it across the ground this time, instead of putting it on top of the big . . . whatever it had been. They left him alone in the nest for a long time; the sun went up and down many times. The others would come and stare at him in the nest, but they were different each time. How many of these others were there?

  Every now and then the same other, a male, threw food in the nest for him. He wondered why he would do that if he wasn’t one of their pack. Were they letting him in their pack? If so, shouldn’t they help him get out of the nest? He asked the other to help pull out the roots, but he didn’t help.

  Whenever he pushed the offal out of the nest, or peed through the roots, they poked him with sticks and barked at him. Did they expect him to live in his own filth? They were very odd, these others.

  After the sun went up and down a few more times, the others dragged his nest onto another of the big things, and a prey pulled it. After a while he fell asleep.

  When he woke he was by the edge of the world. There were huge floating pieces of wood everywhere, as big as small islands. Somehow they dragged his nest up on one of the pieces of wood. He howled at them to let him out, because he might fall in the big water, but they didn’t.

  Once he was on the piece of wood, he saw it wasn’t one piece, but many somehow stuck together, and there were trees he had never seen growing from the middle. Maybe it was some sort of nest? He shuddered as he wondered what sort of creature would make a nest so huge, but he didn’t see it. Maybe it was dead, and the others had moved into the nest?

  A number of others came into the big nest, and climbed up and down the trees and pulled vines out of them. Then the wind blew on the trees, and the nest floated away! He howled and barked and hooted at the others, but they were too stupid to notice. Or maybe they noticed but didn’t care? It was very confusing; like everything he had seen since encountering the others.

  The big nest floated so far from the beach he thought they would fall off the world, but the others didn’t seem concerned. He also worried they would run out of food, but the others were catching fish, and they had different food that was strange and disgusting but filled his belly. They still poked him with sticks and barked at him whenever he pushed his offal out of the nest, but he wasn’t going to stop it no matter what they did. Even animals didn’t sleep in their own filth.

  He kept expecting them to let him out; why would they feed him if he wasn’t one of their pack? He hooted and snorted at them, but they didn’t let him out. Maybe they didn’t know the secret of how to open it?

  The sun went up and down. He couldn’t see the world, only water. Would they run out of food? He wanted out of the nest, and never stopped trying to pull or push the roots off, but they never budged. None of the others seemed to know how to communicate. He was bored, and frustrated, and scared.

  One night there was no wind and it was quiet and the others were all making strange sounds. He was cleaning his teeth with some of the dry grass on the bottom on his nest, when an other came up and started banging on the nest with a big stick. He hissed at the other to stop, because it hurt his ears, but the other laughed and kept doing it, and more came over and starting barking at him. He turned away and covered his ears, wishing they would stop.

  Then a different other, wearing lots of skins, stopped them. It wasn’t the leader of the pack; he had seen that one barking at the rest of the others and they were all afraid of him. But this other howled at them and they stopped banging the nest and barking at him. Most of them went away, but then the other with the stick tried to push the other with many skins in the big water. He didn’t like the one with the stick, and maybe the other with many skins would let him out, so he grabbed the one with the stick and squeezed his neck until it broke. Then the other with many skins pushed the dead other in the big water. He hooted at that one to open the nest, but he didn’t seem to know how either, and covered it up.

  ・

  The next day the wind started blowing, very hard. The big nest was going up and down, and the others were all running up and down the trees and pulling on vines. What were they doing? He thought the big nest would come apart, and howled at them trying to warn them, but they ignored him. Then the big nest did come apart, and lots of the others fell in the big water. His nest slid down and hit one of the trees, and broke open, and he was free.

  If he hadn’t spent so much time in the White River and learned how to not go under the water, he would have breathed water and died. Half the nest broke off in pieces and floated away, and the half he was holding on to came apart, too. Then the other with many skins fell in the water. The other wasn’t moving, so he grabbed him and pulled his head out of the water, and slapped at him to keep him alive. He held on to a tree that was floating in the water now, and waited for the wind to stop and for the sun to come up.

  ・ ・

  When the sun came up, he saw the edge of the world in the distance. It was too far away to get there without going under the water, especially pulling the other with many skins (the other didn’t have many skins any more, but he still thought of him that way). Since the other had helped him, they were the closest thing to a pack, and he didn’t want to let him go under the water. It was always better to be in a pack.

  After a while he saw the edge of the world was getting closer, but it was also going to the side. He didn’t see any other place around it; maybe it wasn’t the world, but somewhere else? A big rock? The other with many skins was making noises, but he was still sleeping. When he thought they were as close as they would get, he pulled the other with many skins by his neck so he wouldn’t go under the water, and started kicking and pulling on the water to move them toward the world.

  After a while they made it. The sun was almost down in the big water. The other with many skins was
still sleeping, so when he could touch the world under the water, he pulled him up on the beach. Then he started looking for silver rocks to make a fire.

  18 ARAD

  It felt strange to be back in his own room. Arad had last seen the room the day he had learned that his sister had been sent north, wed to a powerful nomad chieftain as a political tool. He had taken his most precious items—he was surprised to discover that they were few—and left, never to return.

  At least he had thought he would never return; yet here he was, back in the room of his childhood. Oddly, the room hadn’t changed; not that it would have, being a standard officer’s quarters, but his belongings were still there, laid out as he had left them. If there was one constant with his father, it had always been his lack of nostalgia; the man seemed to have no memory. Never regret the past, never fear the future, he had always taught Arad. In his son’s eyes, that ending up meaning no compassion.

  He ran his fingers over the volumes stacked on the bookshelf. They were all tactics and strategy studies; though Arad had never received any encouragement from his father, there was a time that he imagined he could please him by becoming a brilliant officer. How far that had proved to be from the truth.

  He was amazed that the books were still there. They were quite valuable, and he guessed that a monastery or library would pay well for them. But then, his father had never been one to care for luxuries; with a generous salary from the Overlord, he had little need for coin.

  Other than the books, which Arad had little interest in now, the room contained only a cot, a silvered glass, and a weapons rack. He walked over to the rack and removed a sika, running his thumb along the curved blade diagonally. It was still sharp and wet; someone had been maintaining it. He frowned as he tried to comprehend why his father would leave his room undisturbed, having it cleaned and cared for as if he was still living there.