Ages of Wonder

by Julie E. Czerneda

  Everyone on deck turned to watch. Men scurried out onto the yards preparing to draw sail in tune with the shifting wind. She could imagine them reaching out to the wind, working to harness it into remembered patterns, ushering it back to support their course.

  The wind grew stronger. A sudden chill coursed down her spine as she realized it wasn’t the sailor’s call the wind was following.

  The captain noticed too. “Get Master Tywyn up here, immediately. We need his expertise.” Master Tywyn was the ship’s only first-level magis. She had heard from off-duty seamen that Seadragon’s master was strong with wind and water, a magis who had lived his entire life on the ocean fighting the Gida.

  Kaimi had avoided the master as much as was possible on the two-decked great ship. She didn’t want yet another set of condescending condolences like those of other high level magi she had encountered. She knew what they thought and it made her stomach churn. At least Kailana Loraen didn’t see her daughter fail.

  Kaimi wanted to get away before he could arrive, but the captain was standing between her and the hatchway. Instead, she inched farther along the rail, trying to skirt around the pair of officers without drawing attention. Before she could manage the maneuver, Master Tywyn, dressed in a loose black open-fitting shirt and the green woolen jacket worn by all Shoteth ship’s masters, came on deck. The master’s eyes widened as the rising wind threw him back a pace.

  “Wind’s act’n funny,” he said, voice loud enough to be heard by most of the deck crew.

  “Can you work it?” the captain requested.

  Tywyn stepped to where he could see the compass-box and bent his head thoughtfully. From one moment to the next, he found the trance state. Kaimi felt a shudder run through the ship as the master gathered the wind to his hands and made to shift direction. Sweat puckered his brow, and his face gained lines of tension. “It’s not want’n to move, Captain. It’s as if someone’s pressurin’ it to stay its course.”

  “The Gida!” the lieutenant said. “Could they have learned of our orders?”

  The captain’s face went pale but his voice gave no hint of fear. “They cannot expect it, not from one ship traveling outside of a convoy.”

  What orders? They aren’t just doing this for father? Often the family of officials traveled by naval ship. I should have known there was more to it—I bet this didn’t cost him a thing. He’d have left me in Kanshet otherwise. To be forgotten. Hidden. No doubt the last place he wanted her was anywhere she could draw negative attention to him.

  “Keep trying,” the captain said to the master. Turning to Makane, he added. “Shorten sail, then hand out rations. That storm will be on us in less than a bell.”

  As the lieutenant passed the orders, and the master stooped to make a mark on the chart above the compass, Kaimi focused on the approaching storm, her attention drawn to the ocean running before the clouds. No longer was it the gentle rolling that could lull her with the ship’s movement. Hints of white showed on the waves now, and Kaimi leaned forward. A fog rolled over her vision, catching a breath in her throat. As the frothing sea burst toward the ship, she twisted, tripping away.

  A hand caught her elbow, helping her find footing: the captain’s, she realized, blinking her eyes clear.

  “You need to go below,” the captain said, his gaze shifting back and forth between her and the water. “It’s safer for you there. This is no longer the place for a young woman.”

  Kaimi picked her way to the captain’s day room, where she had been ensconced upon boarding. A scattering of books and papers littered the floor, and she piled them haphazardly on the redwood desk. Most were logbooks and letters of the ship’s previous captains. Captain Aurus had offered the loan of them when she had shown an interest.

  Once she had the books in order, she tucked everything away into a packing trunk, then secured it tightly so it wouldn’t get opened when the sailors carried it below. Which they would the moment the captain called for battle quarters.

  By the time she was finished, Seadragon was shifting more abruptly, each rise followed by a short, sharp drop.

  Kaimi rubbed her eyes fiercely, missing the freedom of the deck, despite knowing she’d be a hindrance in the ship’s preparations. She wondered what Captain Aurus was thinking. What orders is he protecting?

  Despite her inexperience, the captain had welcomed her to spend as much time as she liked on the quarterdeck, and she had. “Bells and bells” as they told it in ship time, watching the seamen working the masts, from the topmost royals upon fore, main, and mizzen, to the thin triangular staysails stretched between. Other times she stared out at the endless expanse of ocean until her eyes watered, thinking the sea more alive than some places on land. Always moving. Always changing.

  The captain had taken to speaking of the sea during the long afternoons, his spent pacing the length of the deck. She knew of his days on blockade in the bitter north as a fourth lieutenant, and of his first captaincy: a sloop which he worked amidst the islands ringing the equator. Through his words, she could almost hear the thrumming explosions as fire-trained seamen shot hot iron out of the ship’s cannons. So different. So chaotic. Not like the daily ship drills at all.

  From her time on Seadragon, she had seen days when water and air aligned to carry the ship in full glorious sail toward far off Traeis, and from the captain’s stories, she imagined those where the wind was devilish calm, leaving the ship silent and becalmed.

  Today it’s a demon, she thought as the ship listed sharply to port. Before she could catch her balance, the cannon shutter burst open, sending a cascade of water into the cabin. She slipped and flew backward, cracking her head against the chest of books with a jarring thud that brought sharp daggers of pain.

  Moments later, she sat up, head pounding along with the ebb and flow of the ship. A salty scent thick in her nose, she grimaced at the water soaking through the skirt of her dress. Cautiously, she took in the damage. Water blew in the open shutter, rain and seawater mixed. The sky beyond the opening was dark, leaving the cabin worse than a tomb.

  Groping around, Kaimi found the desk and lever-aged herself to her feet. She couldn’t keep still—she wanted to move. A pressure built at the base of her spine, prompting her to sway forward to relieve it. Rocking with the movement of the boat, she found a balance. As her stomach grew tense, she could hear the pounding waves outside, beating in time with the rapid beats of her heart. Unnerved, she refused to stay in the cabin. I can’t stand this waiting—maybe the captain will know what’s happening. With that thought, she stumbled across the cabin and outside.

  The moment Kaimi stepped into the storm, a wall of wind whipped a sheet of rain across her back, spiking across her neck and soaking all the way through the linen and lace of her dress. She gasped in enough air to whimper, a more full-throated scream locking in her chest. As a wave barreled against the side, she fell forward as if the storm swells pummeled her. She kept her feet by catching the safety line, the hairy rope cord crossing the deck. Desperately wanting to shut her eyes, she edged along the safety, eyes tracking the distance to where Captain Aurus was standing, shouting orders she couldn’t hear.

  He’ll know how to stop this—he has to!

  As Kaimi slid forward another hand, someone grabbed the trailing end of her cloak and yanked. “What do you think you are doing?” Lieutenant Makane shouted even as he caught and twisted her arm behind her back.

  Struggling within his hold, Kaimi managed to tilt her head enough to see the lieutenant holding her captive with one hand, while his other was affixed to the safety. His dark brown eyes, once patient with her questions, now burned with annoyance and anger. For a fierce moment, she wanted to let him drag her back to the safety of between decks, where she could hide from the energy coursing through her while the storm thundered above. Only the increasing pressure of impending disaster kept her from surrendering.

  Her limbs ached, even as a new wave broke over the ship, breaking Makane’s grip and swamp
ing them both in sea-salted water. A sharp tang burst through her mouth, bitter yet not the choking vileness she expected. Forgetting the storm, she licked her lips.

  Understanding coursed through her body, strange and powerful. She rippled with energy, could feel it building and growing, even as the waves grew. Her knees weakened until she was flat against the deck, looking up into the swirls of sky. For long moments, she knew nothing, except for the steady bursts of sensation accompanying each wave cascading over the side.

  “Come on now,” Makane said, pulling her up again.

  “This isn’t right. I can’t stand it! The captain has to be able to stop . . .” She pulled one hand free and waved it out toward where the riotous waves broke over the side and poured across the canted decks. Without finishing, she dove against the rope, knowing the ship was going to fall hard across the ridge of a wave. As Seadragon shuddered, she held tight. Unprepared, Makane slipped. He cried out as he fell face-down into the swamping onrush and was battered backward against the side.

  Kaimi screamed and grabbed for him. The water was faster, carrying the officer across the deck. Her vision blurred as she became the rush of water against wood, pressing her attack with perfect single-mindedness. She moved with sudden synchrony—targeted, structured—more precise than the new timepieces she had seen in the capital.

  Like nothing of nature could be.

  “This can’t just be a storm,” she shouted, leaping to her feet, resonating with horror. Captain Aurus had his back toward her. No first level magis, he wouldn’t know of the limits around shapings. No one could cause a tempest like this from far away. They’d have to be in the eye of the storm. She peered about for the master. Come on—where is he? He’ll recognize it.

  A deep ache coursed through her chest and she turned toward the sea. A dark body-shaped patch floated on top of the waves, borne up and not dragged down. There was nothing in the dead form that reminded her of Tywyn; even so, she knew the master was dead. There would be no help from there. She had to grab the captain’s attention. She stumbled over to where the first lieutenant was, now sitting up and violently retching.

  Though her stomach lurched in sympathy, she pulled Makane close and shouted in his ear. “It’s a trap. The Gida are out. They have to be. They can’t be controlling this storm from far out. They’ve got to be right on top of us.”

  Kaimi could only imagine how she sounded—warning of their enemy without any background knowledge of the war or of fighting. She recognized the confusion on his face. He thinks I’m mad. She made ready to rush the captain if Makane tried to draw her away, but the first lieutenant’s dark eyes had grown large and were studying her with rapt attention.

  She followed his eyes downward, to where the seawater swirled across their feet. It circled their place on the deck in a gentle, even pool, despite the storm swirling around them, still battering Seadragon’s sides.

  “Come on,” Makane said, grabbing her arm. She yelped as he dragged her forward, crossing the entire deck faster than she had made it ten feet.

  “Captain!” he shouted, voice swallowed instantly by the wind. “Captain!”

  Captain Aurus’s attention was on the massive double wheel of the ship. “Come on—pull it!” he was shouting. Six men were attempting to hold the course steady, their naked backs straining against and beneath the press of the weather. It wasn’t until Kaimi and the first lieutenant were a hand’s span away that the captain turned.

  “Lieutenant,” Aurus said, anger filling his words. “Get her below. What do you think you’re doing? I’ll have you before an inquiry for this.”

  Makane ignored the captain’s threat, motioning toward Kaimi. She would have looked away but she could hardly move; the water weaving around her brought warm numbness despite the bitter chill of the rain.

  “The Gida are nearby, she’s certain of it. If they learn of our orders, far more will die.”

  The captain’s disbelief was plain as he took in Kaimi’s frayed and sodden appearance. He shook his head, raising his hand—no doubt to order her away. If only the water would ease—surely he’d see them. They had to be right in the center of the storm. She knew from her studies that drawings could not be cast from a distance without losing power. If they were in the center, so were the Gida.

  She gasped as the ship rocked beneath them—fell to her knees as the sea calmed, bringing the ship almost to a halt. Rain continued to hammer down, but the water took it in, placating and soothing the turbulent streams. As a wave of exhaustion broke over Kaimi’s head, she met the captain’s eyes. Fear swelled within as she realized the enormity of what she had done.

  The captain didn’t hesitate. “Lookout!” he bellowed. The single word echoed all the way up the mainmast.

  It was as if the wind itself waited for the response; quiet for a moment then rousing to a howl just as a panicked, “Enemy coming across the bow—four cables and closing,” came back from the tops.

  “To quarters!” the captain ordered, even as a rumble echoed across the water. Seamen screamed as balls of fire-powered metal tore through their unprotected ship. If she hadn’t been on her knees already, Kaimi would have pitched forward. Instead, she scrabbled for purchase. Around her, men careened through the hatchways and ran toward their stations: the long cannon lining each side of the lower two decks, and guarding the four corners of the quarterdeck. This was the reason for having fire-trained powers on the ship. Even those with the weakest fire ability could launch heated iron shot.

  “We’ll never make it ’round in this wind!” Makane shouted, even as a second wave of fire broke over the ship. A deep cracking rent the air, and the deck rose slightly as part of the foremast came down, the wind throwing it out to the sea before it could land among the unprotected seamen. Fire burst from where the enemy’s cannon had struck, lively despite the rain. Those seamen not manning cannon scurried about with hoses, trying to put out the fires.

  “Starboard to fire when ready,” the captain commanded, ignoring everything beyond the enemy ship. Seadragon’s deck pitched as thunder sounded from the cannons below, releasing their own torrents of fire. The air sizzled though at this rough angle, no shots connected.

  Frozen by the chaotic din of the Seadragon’s sudden entrance into battle, Kaimi couldn’t take her eyes off the smoke puffing out of their enemy’s cannon, cannon she knew from the ongoing screams had found targets. The Gidan ship was a match to their own, right down to the two decks of cannon and the gilt figurehead—in the Gidan’s case, a woman with wind-swept hair and bared breasts. The only signs it was not of Shoteth origin were the green and yellow Gidan flag waving from the ship’s mainmast and the fact that its cannon shutters were painted a crisp green instead of blood red.

  Then Kaimi noticed the rain, its sharp pinpricks impinging on the water everywhere but around the other ship. What few sails it had unfurled were caught in a well-balanced wind.

  That’s impossible!

  The image of Tywyn’s body floating amidst the whitecaps rose before her eyes. That ship is responsible, she thought, forgetting about the ships’ similarities. A metallic tang filled her mouth as she bit her tongue. More bodies would be joining his soon. Shuddering, she knew if they didn’t do something—if she didn’t do something—Seadragon would be the Gida’s next victim.

  Shutting her eyes, Kaimi reached for the torrents of water falling over Seadragon, trying to grasp control. The driving rain continued.

  It’s just like at the academy—nothing. Hot tears joined the rain on her cheeks.

  No, I have to do this. I have to. Shifting her focus, Kaimi concentrated on the power in the tumultuous sea—on the salted water sluicing over the side. Deeply entranced, she found a well of calm despite the turbulent air.

  Calm will do no good here, she thought angrily, willing the water to boil. The deck shook under her feet, pressure building and growing. Fire heated her cheeks as the shot of a strong Gidan magis took out the great wheel. Captain Aurus continued to call out
orders. Not a word made it to her ears. All she could hear was the rushing of water as it fought her grasp. All she could see was the black emptiness behind her eyelids, though her insides churned and her breath strangled.

  As enemy shots crashed through the ship sparking more screams, blood coursed over the deck to mix with the salt of the ocean. Anger flared through Kaimi’s chest and exploded, barreling water upward through shackles of air, and the Seadragon along with it. Together, ship and water rose and rose, until it felt like she was standing on the edge of a precipice and the only way left to go was down.

  She opened her eyes as the wind died and Seadragon ’s bow tilted forward at the very edge of a breaking wave. With the sails in shreds, she could see forward too easily. Dull sails hung even with her sight, bereft of wind: the enemy’s royals and topgallants.

  Oh Waterlord. Bile rose in her throat as she realized they were hanging almost overtop the enemy.

  If she released the giant wave, it might kill the Gida, but it could also tear Seadragon apart.

  Vision frozen on the Gidan ship, Kaimi felt the silence. If she relaxed her hold, they’d be in the same position—and no doubt the Gida would not play games a second time. Her only choice was to get them before . . .

  “Oh Waterlord—look!” It was Makane. The lieutenant ran to the edge of the quarterdeck and pointed. At the heart of the Gidan ship, one sailor scurried up the mainmast. Even as Kaimi felt her strength weakening, the seaman made it to the top and yanked down the Gidan flag. The scrap of cloth fluttered down to the deck, landing at the feet of a red-jacketed man whose face she could not make out clearly, though she took him for the ship’s captain. The Gidan picked up his country’s flag, folded it against his chest, and knelt with his head bowed.

  Shouts of joy rose from Seadragon’s lower decks; she ignored them. Her legs refused to hold weight as she struggled to hold the unseen press of water back from the Gidan ship. Their surrender wouldn’t matter if she let go. We could all still die.