by Jeff Wheeler
“The serpent’s lair,” he whispered. “What…seek you…amidst the Dochte Mandar?”
“My own errand,” she answered. “How do you know me?”
“I cannot say.”
She cocked her head, challenging him with her eyes.
His mouth twisted into a snarl. “For many years I have not been able to speak of it. My crew has changed, save one. He who brought you to me. Malcolm was the only one left.” The captain walked around the edge of his table and approached her. His breath stank of decay, but she willed herself not to flinch. She had gutted enough wild boar in the woods surrounding Muirwood not to lose her stomach so easily. His hand lifted to her cloud of wavy hair and he touched it gingerly, his eyes closing with a memory that obviously pained him. “My mouth must be silent on certain matters, lass. I cannot speak of them, for I am cursed by Sheol for what I did. Do you know who I am?”
Lia shook her head slowly, feeling the menace of his presence so near to her.
“My name is Tomas Aldermaston.” He sneered at her. “A jib, my lady. A mock. I was born in the northern Hundreds, a wretched of Dun Pharlain Abbey. After serving my time, I went amidst the shipbuilders of Dun Pharlain town on the mouth of Firth River. There I learned to be a crew. They called me Aldermaston instead of Tomas Crew because I was a wretched. But I learned the trade well. I served under several captains and had a gift for turning a profit. But the greatest profit I ever earned was arresting the king’s cousin on a voyage to Bridgestow. She was marrying a prince, you see, against the king’s wishes. We caught her cog easily enough and my men did their work well. We only killed the Evnissyen left to protect her. The rest…we spared.” His eyes bore into hers. “I shall never forget that lass. I shall never forget her, though I live to be a hundred and forty.” He turned away from her and walked back to the table, staggering as he did. His voice was muffled, but she could still hear him speak.
“I was paid two hundred crowns. Two hundred. A ransom greater than any I had earned. I would give every farthing of it back. I would give ten-fold back and drown in Sheol if I could bring back the tide and do it again.” He looked back at her, his eyes full of suffering. “She was held in Pent Tower for three years. She was kept from her husband for the first three years of their marriage.” His teeth chattered. “And she died in the birthing chamber. Snuffed out, like a golden wax taper.” With a sweep of his arm, he scattered everything off the table. Lia started as the sacks of coins, the tuns of spice, the flagons all crashed and spilled on the wooden floor. He slammed his fist down on the table, so hard she wondered if he broke his hand. Whirling at her, he approached again, his finger fixed in the air.
“I can say no more of what I know. My tongue cleaves to my mouth when I try to speak more of it. These many years have the memories tormented me. I would recognize your face anywhere. I know who you are. You bid me take you to Dahomey? We were departing to Dahomey this very morn. You bid me take you to Dochte? Then you shall go there and torture those fools and haunt them instead of me. I have a shipment of cider due thereabouts.” He scratched his cheek roughly, staring at her with anguish. “I am yours to command. If you bid me sail you into the great Deep, I will do it. Most captains fear to sail beyond the outer island, but I fear it not. There is a stirring in me that says I will sink into Sheol, or else brave the seas beyond those islands ‘ere I die. This ship was built to ride the high seas. There is no distance too great. It lures me. It whispers to me. If you bid me sail you there, I will, lass. I fear it not.”
“I do not doubt it, Tomas Aldermaston,” Lia said, her heart wrestling with the implications of what he had revealed. If her heart was telling her true, she was standing before a man who had known her mother. “Is your ship very fast?”
A crooked grin met her in reply. “She is big and fast, my lady. Nothing outraces the Holk of Doviur.”
CHAPTER THIRTEEN:
Crossing the Storm
To spare Lia any further indignities from the crew, Tomas Aldermaston offered her his quarters while he went up on deck and made ready to sail. Lia opened the bolted shutters and watched the port of Doviur recede from sight as the giant ship lumbered away. The wind was gusty and the ship had an odd sway that made her nervous and queasy. The sound of shouting, the creak of floorboards, the whine of ropes all flooded her with sounds and sensations. The captain’s chamber was decorated with fine workmanship, the furniture fashioned with wooden pins to lock the pieces to the ground and keep them from shifting with the vessel’s swaying.
Lia grew weary of waiting and so went to the door and slowly opened it. A mass of bodies moved about the deck, but there was a man stationed at the door. It was the one she had met earlier coiling the rope. He looked at her and shook his head slowly. “Stay hidden, lass. Best if the crew do not see you.”
She realized that he had taken to guarding the door to prevent other members of the crew from harassing her while the captain was distracted with other duties. He nodded to her to go back in and she obeyed.
With nothing to do, Lia cleaned up the mess spilled about the floor and then sat by the edge of the bed. The lurch and roll of the ship made her drowsy.
She awoke when thunder boomed overhead and sat up straight. The chamber was dark, though it was still daylight, she reasoned. Rain came slanting down through the open windows, which she hurriedly fastened shut. Enormous storm clouds filled the skies and the ocean was a cauldron of boiling water. Lia lost her balance as the ship suddenly pitched forward and she had to grab the table to keep from falling. She was grateful she had not eaten in a while. Her stomach was horribly upset.
The floor contained puddles of seawater which had sloshed in from under the door. Another violent pitch the other way made Lia desperate for a handhold to brace herself. Each rise and fall made her stomach giddy and then sick. Thunder boomed overhead and lightning flashed like silver daggers. Shouts from outside the cabin were full of rage and even the keen of fear. Lia managed to get to the door again and opened it. Her protector was no longer there. Water sluiced through the passageway and soaked her boots. Foamy waves breached the high walls, crashing onto the wet crewmen who struggled to tame flapping ropes and sails.
Railings were nailed into each wall, so she gripped them carefully and forced herself out of the dim corridor to the main deck. There were only a handful of crew about. She reckoned the rest were below deck to spare them from the storm’s wrath. Lia’s eyes bulged as she watched the sea drop perilously in front of her and the nose of the great boat went down at a steep angle. She gripped the rods hard, using her feet to brace herself between the two walls as the ship sliced down the trough and up the other side. Seawater submerged the prow when it struck the valley of the wave. Hand over hand, she pulled herself forward. The wind was thick with salty water and soon her hair hung in clumps.
A body appeared in the corridor. It was the black-haired sailor, the one who had scowled at her when she first boarded. The look he gave her was lethal. “Go back to the room, foolish girl! Sheol is punishing us because you are on board. Go back at once!”
Lia cowered from the fear in the man’s eyes. His words were angry, but his countenance was terrified. The ship plunged again and Lia started to slip, so she used both hands to grip one rod.
“Go back!” he roared at her.
Lia obeyed, fighting against the slick flooring to make it back to the captain’s quarters. After shutting the door, she staggered to the captain’s bed and thrust herself on it. Each pitch of the waves terrified her. The storm blew with fury and rage. Something inside nagged her that it was because of her somehow. The shutters rattled and thunder continued to explode overhead. Lia squeezed her eyes shut and trembled.
* * *
The storm raged for days. Lia was sick, exhausted, and frightened by the ferocity. In all the gales that struck Muirwood, she had a sturdy roof overhead and though there were leaks, they were not the kind that threatened her life. The crew worked furiously bailing water, mending cracks and fi
xing spars, their actions continually compromised by the dashing waves and violent pitching of the Holk. Tomas Aldermaston was rarely in his quarters, retiring there only when exhaustion overwhelmed him, sleeping a few short hours, then rushing back to the helm to battle the storm’s fury.
He entered the cabin again, his face wretched with fatigue and despair. “She cannot endure much more of this pounding,” he said, conflicted. Then he stared at her. “My crew say the storm is because of you.”
Lia looked incredulous. “They think that I brought the storm?”
“Aye, and many seek to throw you overboard to prove it will cease. It is unlucky to sail with womenfolk. Others say you are cursed. A crewman’s fear yet they are angry. I have never suffered a storm as great as this one. Not in all my years at sea.”
Lia moved slightly, adjusting her legs around the edge. Her stomach was taut with hunger, but she dared not eat with the general queasiness. “I did not bring this storm, Tomas. Surely you believe that?”
He leaned back against the door, as if holding it closed to protect her. “Are you aware of sailors myths? Do you know of the kingdom of Ilkarra in Sheol?”
Lia shook her head, though a shiver ran through her at the word. She understood the language through her Gift of xenoglossia. Ilkarra was the representation of the underworld, the land of the dead.
The ship pitched again, nearly throwing Lia off the bed. She clutched at the rails and held on. Tomas wedged his boots against a post and held on. He grimaced with anger. “We will break apart. I have lost three men to Sheol already. Maybe we will all perish.” His eyes narrowed when he looked at her. “Your journey must be important if you bring a storm upon us.”
Lia frowned. “I brought no storm with me.”
“Not you yourself – but your thoughts. What seek ye in Dochte Abbey?”
“I am only a messenger,” she said. “As I told you last night, I warn them about the Blight.”
“Then Sheol mayhap does not wish to be warned,” he replied.
“Who is Sheol?” Lia asked. “You have mentioned that name. The sailors curse by it.”
“Aye, they do. Sheol is the Queen of the Sea. Queen of the Unborn. The sea is the gateway to her domain, to Ilkarra. When every man dies, their bodies are returned to the earth, but their souls sink down into Ilkarra. Sheol is what we call her. The Queen of Storms. The Queen of the Unborn. The Whore of all the earth. The mastons call her Ereshkigal. Did you know that, lass?”
The name sent a shiver up Lia’s spine. She stared at him in shock and surprise. “How do you know that name?”
“Sometimes a maston is careless with his whispers. Sometimes they speak in their sleep or when they are tempted. Sometimes they do not mind the Abbey doors as they ought and a young wretched sneaks in and overhears the maston rites. Ereshkigal is the mother of hetaera. Is that what you seek in Dochte Abbey?” His eyes squinted at her, his face jutting forward intensely. “Do you seek to join them?”
“I am no hetaera,” Lia answered distastefully. “They are my enemy.”
He nodded. “Some believed that my prisoner, all those years ago, that she was one. That she had power over storms. That she was Ereshkigal made flesh. But she was a maston. I promise you that. She was a maston and she could calm a storm.” He swallowed heavily. “I cannot speak what I cannot say. Can you…save us, child? Can you banish these winds? You may be the only thing that can save us now.”
Lia stared at him. “Me?”
“I have done all that I can. My ship will break up. She is already beginning to. In my pride, I thought I could ride her out. I thought I could bring you safely there. But I see now that I cannot. The crew thinks you are causing the storm. Except Malcolm. He says you will save us from it.”
A furious pounding sounded on the door. Tomas whirled and opened it and the black-haired crewman stumbled in, sea-drenched, and gasping.
“She’s foundering! Captain, she’s foundering!” his face was livid with emotions, mostly fear. The sky keened with the wind.
Tomas turned back to Lia with a look of supplication.
Lia advanced, swaying with the ship and stepped out into the storm. The lashing washes had swamped the main deck and crewmen clung to ropes to keep from going overboard. She was blinded by the stinging saltwater, but she squinted as she pushed on, ignoring the howls from the crew when they saw her. She used her arm to shield her face, her vision blurring, and then she saw the gray-eyed crewman, Malcolm – the one who had brought her to the captain to begin with. He was drenched but his expression calm. He nodded to her slowly.
Lia summoned her courage.
Then a cry from one of the crew reached her ears. “Save us!”
It was picked up by another. Then another. “Save us! Save us! Save us from Sheol!”
“Shut your eyes!” she cried out. “Do not watch what I do.”
The Medium began to churn within her, before she even raised her arm to the maston sign. She gripped the wooden bar to keep her balance. Water splashed across her face. Foam hissed like ten thousand serpents.
She remembered the night of the Great Storm in Muirwood. It came back to her in a rush. Jon Hunter, sopping wet, holding rings in his hand. Pasqua refusing to bake the required loaves of bread. Sowe asleep beneath her blanket. Lia saw the Aldermaston’s eyes, heard the tone of his voice. The rains have plagued us quite enough. They will cease. Now.
“Be calm,” Lia said softly, gently, coaxingly. “Be still.”
The Medium roared inside of her, flooding her senses with light and force. She stared at the ocean, stared at the roiling waves as the wind died around them. The groans from the Holk settled as the waves slipped back down harmlessly. She lowered her hand and stared next at the crew and found them squatting, gripping their ropes or poles and shielding their faces from her as if she were too bright too look at.
The sea was calm. Gentle waves lapped against the hull as the water drained from the ports and doors. There was a hiss and curse in her mind. A presence retreating, fading into the distance. It was familiar to her. It terrified her. The Gift of Seering opened up her mind and she saw the darkness receding from the ship, tossed away like a heavy blanket. In her mind’s eye, she saw Pareigis hunched over a firewell within Muirwood Abbey, scowling furiously. The presence she had sensed was the Queen Dowager’s. It was familiar to her because she had felt it not just in Muirwood, but she recalled feeling it earlier than that. The night before the battle of Winterrowd, she had been plucked by an invisible hand, a hand so powerful she had assumed it to be the king’s will, his mind. But she realized it was another hand – it was the Queen Dowager who had been the puppetmaster.
The Queen Dowager is the form Ereshkigal uses to walk the earth. One of her many forms. It is her sanctuary you approach.
Lia’s feelings shriveled inside her when she finally realized that another hand controlled the Queen Dowager. She could sense that presence still, vast as a starlit sky. The Queen of the Unborn was on the earth. She could assume human form by forging a link through a Kystrel. Lia realized it fully that the Queen Dowager’s family were her chosen minions, her disguise to live in the world. From generation to generation she had been born and born again. Pareigis was young. But the being dwelling inside her was as ancient as Idumea.
* * *
“I am confused and miserable. How can I know the truth of what I am told? The Aldermaston of Dochte says that if the Blight is coming it may be my destiny to stop it and not just warn of it. I must pass the maston test soon, or it will be too late. The king has told me that it is my destiny to marry him, that our alliance will put an end to the civil war and make our kingdom mighty again. He is a kind person, so very thoughtful, but something in his manner makes me distrust him. Or maybe it is because in my heart, in the deepest part of my heart, I cannot bear the thought of marrying anyone but Colvin. I could be the Queen of the realm – yes, me! But I do not desire it. There is never time to sleep in this place. It is study and celebration, study
and celebration. Every night going later and later. I am so weary. How can I pass the test when my mind is so tired? The Aldermaston thinks I am nearly ready. I can hear the whispers of the Medium now. They are all around me. This place is so full of the Medium. In Muirwood, I could scarcely hear anything. But after several days in Dochte, the whispers are clear. I especially hear them at night. What is my destiny? What am I supposed to do? Colvin says I must surrender to the Medium’s will. I do not think he understands what that means for every time I look at him, when his eyes seek my own and he smiles in encouragement, the Medium whispers that he will be mine. How I hope it is true. I would give up a kingdom to be his.”
- Ellowyn Demont of Dochte Abbey
* * *
CHAPTER FOURTEEN:
The Spike of Dahomey
The Holk of Doviur was listing badly, forcing the crew to bail water and work at shoring up the cracks in the seams before she foundered and sank. The beating from the storm had mangled the rigging, terrified the crew, and jeopardized the massive hull. There was no doubt though, in any of the crew’s mind, that Lia had saved them from destruction. As she walked above deck, they looked at her with respect and awe. Some had even asked her for her blessing.
Tomas Aldermaston shouted orders, striding vigorously on the deck and pointing this way and that, identifying new dangers that threatened them. He stared at the deep shelf of the sea, tame once more and beckoned for Lia to join him. She did.
He kept his voice pitched low and it was thick with anger. “We are lost,” he whispered. “That storm blew us hither and yon, and I cannot get my bearings until the night. We should have seen Dahomey shores by now, but I cannot say whether we will see their shores or ours first. We faced the wrath of Sheol, we did. But now we are lost and I fear we will take in more water before we can make it to a harbor to mend the Holk.”