The Ship of Tears_The Legend of the Nine_Part One

by T. J. Garrett

  There was a hand on her arms. Then another on her shoulder.

  “Go on, girl, you are doing it,” York’s voice said from miles away.

  Abruptly, Elspeth could See the wave. As the water swelled, she pulled on the rope toward the ship. Another rope appeared, and she pulled on that one, too. Over and over, like splashing her hand in a wash bowl, she pulled the water through her and on toward the ship. As before, as soon as there was enough, Elspeth could feel her mind sculpting the wave. She pulled some away and piled more on top, forcing it to go where she wanted. When the surge was at its peak, she let the huge wave go.

  * * *

  Like most noble women – even those who were not born into a noble family – Zill rarely paid much attention to the servants. Which was why she was still standing atop the tower when the mist rolled in.

  On finally hearing the cry, Crasindra looked over the rail. Her first thought was, Why can I see the deck? Then she noticed the men running down the aft castle steps toward the body lying sprawled atop the raft runners. That was when she noticed the great ball of mist. Rather than cry out in shock, Crasindra felt a grin crease her lip – this is what she had been waiting for.

  She turned for the stairs, then halted abruptly. Something she saw out of the corner of her eye made her turn toward the western horizon – a peculiar reflection.

  Seeing the moon reflected on the water was a common sight for anyone living on the coast, and after spending two years in Rieg, Crasindra had seen the moon’s reflection a hundred times. Although occasional broken by the waves, the silver light on the water always made a straight line. No matter where she stood along the Rieg harbour, that light pointed right back at the moon.

  So why was it now arching toward the shore?

  Squinting into the darkness, she noticed something else that seemed amiss – a small black shape, maybe half a mile to the west. Unbidden, her mind flew back to the fisherfolk riot, to the warehouse fires, and the flock of gulls which had attacked her men. Three weeks had passed since Elspeth had escaped her clutches, but the momentous events of that day had paled in comparison to what her one-time prisoner had done to the harbour – Elspeth had pummelled the city with a tidal wave.

  Looking to her left, that crooked reflection suddenly seemed ominous, and no sooner did Crasindra recognise the omen for what it was…

  The black tower began to shake.

  “No!” Crasindra yelled. “Not now.”

  A violent shudder sent her grasping toward the rail. She suddenly felt like she was on a horse, jumping a high fence. Her stomach dropped, and she found herself sitting on the wooden planks next to the steps.

  The ship was still rising – Crasindra could feel it in her stomach. The wave had caught her beautiful ship and she was rising up like driftwood on the high tide.

  Crasindra reached for the Voice. It had to be Elspeth; there could not be two witches capable of producing a tidal wave at will. Bracing herself against the rail, Crasindra squinted into the darkness, at where she had seen the small dark object. Relief flooded her mind when she looked beyond the silver curtain and saw five lights off to the west. One of the distant lights was a good deal brighter than the others – Elspeth.

  The tower was still shaking, but there had to be enough time. If she could stop the girl now, maybe the gateway would hold long enough for her to climb down the steps to the machine.

  She reached out with the Voice, and dismay hit her like a hammer to the side of the head – Yes, there was a witch down there, likely Elspeth, but she was not doing anything; there was not a single thread of the Power coming from that cluster of light.

  That could only mean one thing; she had already released the wave.

  There was nothing else for it. As much as Crasindra wanted to punish the girl, she let go of the Voice and pulled herself over to the stairs. Maybe it was not too late. If she hurried, maybe the gateway would still be open.

  She stumbled down the stairs, hoping her wet witches were still at their post, feeding the conduit. If they started to leave, she would never make it down to the hold in time.

  “They won’t leave,” she told herself. “They can’t leave the machine any more than you can.”

  For once, she hoped she was not wrong about the dreadful sensation which had kept her on the ship, and hoped the other witches shared her feelings. If not…

  “Don’t think like that,” she told herself, as she reached the fourth landing. “The gateway will be there. You have plenty of time.”

  Again, the tower shuddered under the strain. Crasindra had to hold tight to the guide rope while all around the stairs shook.

  That was when she realised the ship was moving.

  “What are you doing, Elspeth?” she whispered. “Where are you taking me?”

  * * *

  Karloth cursed his overblown sense of duty. He knew the witch had gone mad the moment she refused to leave the ship despite all those sores appearing on her face, but did he listen to his common sense? No, of course he did not. And now he was going to die on that blasted boat. Inwardly, he cursed himself again for never having learned to swim, then threw another curse at Crasindra for forcing him onto this damned death trap in the first place.

  “Do we stay?” Chade asked.

  “Stay?” Karloth spat. “What would be the point? We are sinking, aren’t we?”

  “I don’t know, sir. Feels like something is lifting us up.”

  They were in the passage below the first deck. Chade was right, they were going up. How could that be? Karloth looked out of the portal. All around, the sea was a whitewash of bubbling foam, more reminiscent of the base of a waterfall than the open ocean. What was happening? Was this part of Zill’s plan? He could not remember her saying anything about magical waves.

  “Assume we are attacked,” he told Chade. “Order the men on deck, reconnoitre the situation, then use your best judgement.”

  “And if we are sinking?” Chade asked.

  “Then get my men to the boats before the locals take them.”

  Chade nodded, then ran best he could toward the forecastle. Most of the men would be down that end of the ship – those who were not guarding the machine, that was.

  Karloth curled his lip at the thought of that hideous contraption. It was wrong, unnatural. How many times had he told Crasindra it would be the end of them? And now look where they were – on a sinking ship. He had no doubt the gods damned machine had something to do with those white waves and all the shaking and shuddering. Yes, the machine was to blame all right. He should go find Crasindra and drag her to the boat, let the unholy contraption sink with the ship.

  Mind made up, Karloth made his way to the conduit. The door to the machine room was down that way. He had no doubt Lady Zill would already be there.

  He all but slid down the stairs, then ran through the conduit room to the door on the other side. Down another flight of stair, a right turn, and he was at the machine room.

  But where was Zill? The door was open, nobody was inside. Where was Crasindra?

  Then he remembered – she had been heading to the top of the tower for some fresh air.

  “Gods, if she was up there when the wave hit!”

  He closed the door, and turned back to the stairs.

  On his way, he glanced through one of the portals, and had just enough time to wonder why the beach was so close, when the ship hit the rocks.

  The abrupt stop threw him forward. He banged the bridge of his nose against the top step, then flayed his arms about like a drunkard on the back of a runaway cart as he tried to stop himself falling down the stairs.

  Thrashing about did not help. He landed with a thud, cursed the carpenter for not installing a bannister, then sighed as the darkness overtook him.

  CHAPTER 26

  Grounded

  “Do you think we are up high enough?” Anooni said.

  She was on the rocks overlooking the beach. Gresh, who had volunteered to lead their group, was sitti
ng on a flat stone, hands cupped around his eyes, staring off toward the Tower Ship.

  He lowered his hands and turned to her. “Why ask me? Didn’t she tell you what she was going to do?”

  “Well, yes, but…”

  Elspeth had said she was going to create a tidal wave, like she had in Rieg. If all went to plan, she would use the wave to ground the Tower Ship onto the beach – and thus doing away with the risky notion of attacking the ship at sea. But did that mean the wave would come up onto the beach, too? Anooni supposed it must. Hence the question – were they up high enough?

  “I’m not worried about us,” she said. “But Olivia is down there.”

  She could image the wave crashing up the beach and taking Olivia and Nini, and maybe a dozen rebels, for a ride through the forest.

  “Maybe we should signal them to come up here with us.”

  Truth was, Anooni did not like anything about this plan. Too many things could go wrong. On top of that worry, she remembered the inn back in Sugal, when Elspeth asked her if she had Seen something. Anooni had said no, but was that not the problem? She had not Seen anything of Elspeth – not even the vague promise of a viewing she could see every time she looked at another witch. And now Elspeth was using all that Power to conjure a tidal wave. Anooni could not help but wonder if the two were connected.

  “If you going to call them over,” Gresh said, “you should hurry up and—”

  The sky lit up with a brilliant flash of blue light. A sound like a giant hammer smashing against a mountain knocked Anooni off her feet. She felt a dull thud as the back of her head bounced off the rocks, then a sharp pain as her shoulder scrapped against the rough stone Gresh had been sitting on. Breath was forced from her lungs by the impact, and she lay on her back, staring up into the night sky.

  “Are those birds I hear?” Anooni said, when she could breathe again. “And why is it so hot all of a sudden?”

  “On your feet,” a man’s voice said. “We have to go up.”

  “I can hear a wagon,” Anooni said, absently wondering who had her by the wrist. “Can you hear a wagon?”

  “Never mind the wagon,” said the voice. “You won’t be hearing anything if you don’t get up and start climbing.”

  The man was yanking her arm. He pushed her onto something hard, then grabbed her about the waist. Vaguely, Anooni could see light reflecting off the ground beneath her feet. She decided they were small pools of water. She suddenly hoped she was not wearing her good shoes – she only had two pairs. The man grabbed her under the arm, pinching her breast. He pulled her tight against his hip, then seemed to lever her onto another hard surface. Someone else grabbed her wrist, and she was being pulled up again.

  Finally, they let her sit down. Water splashed over her neck. Someone was brushing the hair from her eyes. Someone else was sitting behind her, letting her lean against him.

  Slowly, ever so slowly, she remembered where she was.

  “Am I hurt?” she asked Gresh.

  “A cut on your head. I don’t think it’s deep.”

  She managed to turn and look at him. He was staring out to sea. Anooni followed his gaze. It took a while for her eyes to focus, but when they did, her breath caught at what she saw – the Tower Ship was riding on a wave that was higher than they were.

  “I hope that wave breaks before it reaches us,” Gresh said. “We can’t go any higher.”

  That was true. They were as high on the rocks as they could get; any higher, and they would be climbing down the other side.

  “We’ll just have to wait and see,” Anooni said.

  “The way that wave is moving, we won’t have to wait long.”

  Gresh glanced to the south, then nodded. “I think your friends had the same thought, but I’m not sure climbing those trees will help.”

  From where Anooni was sitting, she could not see the top end of the beach, and as moving was out of the question, all she could do was prey Olivia and Nini would be safe. Even if she could see them, there was nothing she could do. Not now – the wave was barely a hundred paces from the shore.

  The rumble of a million chattering pebbles assaulted Anooni’s ears as the wave seemed to suck the tide down from the beach. It was as if the front of the wave was making a great trough for all the rest of the water to fall into. That it was only making the wave bigger made Anooni chew at her thumbnail.

  Above the chatter, Anooni could hear the groan of timber, as the Tower Ship seemed to tip over the crest. Any more, and it would capsize. She spared a thought for Morn. Why had they let the man go back to the ship? He wanted to warn the other chore boys, somehow lead them to a safe place within the ship, but how could anyone on-board survive what was about to happen?

  “Brace yourself,” Gresh said. “Not long now.”

  Anooni closed her eyes and made herself small. Gresh leaned over her, and the other man who had grabbed her wrist made a bookend with Gresh on one side and her in the middle. They wound their arms around each other and curled up as tight as three chicks in a swallow’s nest. The rushing cacophony filled Anooni’s mind. It all sounded so close – how could she not be covered in salt water and splintered wood. For what felt like an age, the noise bashed against her chest, so that even the rocks they lay on seemed to move. The man to her left began to moan, and Gresh made a growling noise, as if challenging the onslaught. Anooni could not help but scream. Just when she thought it could not go on any longer, the wave crashed down upon them.

  Anooni immediately swallowed a mouthful of water. Choking, she forced her face under the man’s chest. She felt Gresh pull her tight against his body, and the other man reached over to wrap his arm around Gresh’s shoulder.

  There they lay, while all around, water threatened to wash them off the rocks and out to sea. For a long time, Anooni waited for a part of the ship to hit them, but none did. And after spitting out what felt like half the ocean, the water finally subsided.

  Gresh rolled onto his back. He did not sit up, but he shouted to the others, “Are we all here?”

  Groans met his question, but nobody said a friend was missing. Nor did they complain of injury – which was a miracle all of its own.

  Anooni forced herself up. She hitched forward, then blinked at the wooden wall not three paces from where she sat.

  Gresh was already up. He was staring at the ship, too. “That was a bit too close,” he said.

  He turned to Anooni. “Are you injured? We should get up there before the Kel’mau can gather their wits and form up.”

  “Gather their wits?” Anooni said. “I think I lost mine along with all the water I spat out.”

  Gresh smiled, then reached out a hand. “Come on, we have to find a way up there before that tower collapses.”

  Anooni looked up at the wooden tower. Gresh was right, it did not look safe. If it leaned forward anymore, it would break off at the base.

  Anooni let Gresh help her up, then watched as they gathered the rest of his men. “Should we go find Olivia?” she asked.

  “I think she’s already climbing up from the other side,” Gresh said. “I saw her group climbing down from those trees a moment ago. Now, they are not even on the beach. They must have found a way onto the ship.”

  “Then we should follow them in,” Anooni said.

  Gresh shook his head. “Better we attack on two fronts. We’ll climb here and enter through that hole in the hull.”

  Anooni followed his pointing finger, and saw a big hole in the side of the ship. She would have to climb up a bit, but it wasn’t that high up.

  “After you, then,” she said, and followed Gresh along the rocks.

  * * *

  Morn kicked the crates away. He had thought hiding under the stairs as the ship was carried to shore would be a good idea, but he had not counted on the wall to the storeroom collapsing, covering them with sacks of rice and beans and heavy jars of pickled apples. And the flour; he was covered from head to foot in white dust. Still, at least none of the j
ars had broken and spilled vinegary apple juice all over him.

  “Are you all here?”

  Seven faces turned at his question, the other chore boys and two kitchen maids. Unsurprisingly, most looked scared out of their wits, but Rommy seemed more angry than frightened.

  “What did you do?” Rommy asked. “What happened to the ship?”

  “We crashed,” Morn said, as if it were obvious. He kicked another crate to the side and stood – then immediately ducked when his head hit the underside of the stairs. “Get up. We have to go.”

  “Go where? We only have the one boat, and Lady Zill will have taken that. You have killed us. We are going to drown.”

  “No you won’t,” Morn said. He helped two of the smaller boys to their feet, then gestured for them to wait at the bottom of the stairs. “We’re not at sea anymore. We are on the island. Least I hope we are.” He whispered the last for himself.

  “And how would you know all that?” Rommy said. “First, you tell us we must hide, then you make us barricade ourselves under the stairs, and now you seem to know what happened with the ship even though you’ve not been on deck this past hour. Who are you? What did you do?”

  Rommy was glaring now, he looked ready to start a fight. He was the biggest of the chore boys – bigger than Morn, even if he was five years younger. He had broad shoulders for a thirteen-year-old, and the calloused hands of a boy who has already spent most of his life labouring for one master or another. Morn had no doubt Rommy would be handy with his fist, but this was no time for a competition over who was in charge; they had to get off the ship before the real fighting started.

  “I’ll explain all that later,” he said. “Just help me get the others up those stairs.”

  The ship was leaning heavily to one side. They could climb up the stairs, but they would have to hold on to the bannister and pull themselves up the last few steps onto the landing. Once there, they would have to find their way to the hatch and hope the kitchen fires had not set light to the deck. All that, and in almost total darkness.