28
STARSPAWN
Jendara surfaced gasping. Rock rained down around her, sending up spurts of water that obscured the line between sea and air. She couldn’t see the Milady; she couldn’t see the beach; a shard of stalactite hit the side of her head and the world went gray for a moment. She sank like an anchor beneath the water, arms and legs no longer getting messages from her brain. Then a sharp yank on her sleeve pulled her back up into air.
Something warm and wet slapped against her face and she blinked awake to find Fylga licking her worriedly. Another chunk of stone hit the water and nearly swamped the pair. Jendara began to tread water, searching around her for the best course of action. The cave was dark now, and she realized the Milady and her lanterns were already slipping out of the cave’s mouth.
No one but the dog had noticed her go over the side. She was going to have to swim for it.
A soft crunching caught her attention, and she realized the stolen longship had broken free of the cave wall. It slid forward a few inches, moving inch by inch toward the cave’s opening. A seam ran along the water behind it: the long trail of a dangling mooring rope, its end only a few yards away.
Fylga and Jendara paddled toward the ship. Jendara grabbed onto the rope with one hand and then reached out for the dog. “Good thing you’re small.” She pulled them closer. It was a longship, after all, and low to the water. Jendara hoisted the dog up onto the gunwale and gave her butt a shove. Then she braced her legs against the ship’s side and hauled herself up and over the side. She landed hard in the bottom of the boat.
Korthax looked up from the rudder with a snarl.
“You should have made sure I was dead before you double-crossed us, Korthax.” Jendara got to her feet. “The only thing I don’t understand is why you were so nice to Kran the whole time.”
He bared his teeth. “I knew you would not hurt me if the boy liked me.”
Anything he might have added was swallowed up by a booming roar that shook the walls of the cavern. A surge of water shot the longship out of the cave’s mouth, grinding its side against the rocky wall all the way. The longship moved fast, but not so fast that Jendara couldn’t see, looking over her shoulder, the enormous figure wriggling out of the demolished back wall of the cave. The sleeping god had finally pierced through the shell of the island.
The ship moved west into open water. Waves rocked the longship and an icy wind whipped at Jendara’s hair. After weeks of warm weather, winter had announced its arrival with a fury. Thunder crashed, and Jendara, still looking backward, saw the entire island silhouetted against a flash of lightning that must have struck the tall towers on its surface.
The rock at the mouth of the cavern sagged to the right. Something inside the cave, some integral bit of stone, groaned sadly. Rocks jiggled and jolted down the cliff face and plunged into the ocean, faster and faster, larger rocks and entire chunks of the cliff shearing off. The waves battered the longship and Jendara grabbed onto the gunwale.
The island split open, revealing the terrible glory of the sleeping god.
The sound of the stars screaming filled Jendara’s ears as if it came from inside her head and vibrated out through the bones of her skull. She struggled to breathe. The air was air no longer, but some thick moldering substance that drained the life from anything that inhaled it. She couldn’t take in the entirety of the creature before her—it undulated before her eyes, parts swelling to unimaginable sizes and then shrinking down to something she could almost compare to ordinary creatures. Only its eyes remained absolute, vast and all-seeing and lit from within with an evil flame.
“The starspawn,” Korthax breathed. She wondered how she could hear him over the sound of the universe’s terror.
The god spread its leathery wings and gave a luxurious flap. Water spouts broke out on the surface of the sea, spinning off in wild directions.
Jendara loosened her grip on the ship’s gunwale. The pressure in her head abated a little. The water spouts raced past her, and she realized the longship and the Milady weren’t alone out here in the sea. The sharp fins of the deep ones sliced through the water all around them as the strange creatures raced away from the crumbling island. She saw an ulat-kini swim past as well.
The towers on the surface toppled, their spires tumbling down over the cliffs and smashing into the sea. Fissures opened on every cliff face. Water that had been trapped inside closed-off chambers and hidden caves poured out of the cracks and crannies that opened up as the island shook itself to pieces. Another flash of lightning lit everything up a startling white, and Jendara saw a golden figurine of something not quite octopus, not quite human, slide down the eroding rock, its priceless curves winking in the light.
That alone would have rebuilt Sorind and allowed Jendara to quit working forever. It hit the water with a tremendous splash. Gone, destroyed, like all the majesty of this strange and ancient place.
Fylga began to growl.
Jendara had nearly forgotten the dog and the ulat-kini who shared the longship, and it was a struggle to wrench her attention back to the ordinary world. Destruction and despair had nearly swallowed her whole.
If she had to guess how Korthax had escaped the Star Chapel, she would have assumed he crept out the front doors while everyone’s attention was on the drama of the blue portal, but she could see now he had not. He had taken the other route to freedom, the route she had suggested to Kran. Korthax had followed the star scepter out the open window—and reclaimed the magical device.
Now he held it up to the dark sky and chanted something in a mysterious language whose very syllables made the hair rise on Jendara’s neck:
Ph’nglui mglw’nafh Cthulhu R’lyeh wgah’nagl fhtagn!
Iä! Iä!
The symbols on the star scepter began to fill with a creamy light, and the same brilliant glow appeared at the heart of the astrolabe. The sleeping god snapped open its wings and screeched loud enough to pierce the clouds.
The star scepter. The astrolabe. Jendara’s head spun. It was almost impossible to concentrate. The god’s thoughts, so huge they escaped its tentacled head, filled her mind with rage and disgust. This world disgusted it. The beings of this world disgusted it. It was time for it to sleep, time for it to draw together its powers and wait for its priest-king to send the orders for all destruction.
She suddenly remembered the huge deep one in the Star Chapel as it made its attack on Ahrzur. “The stars are wrong,” Jendara whispered.
“It’s obeying!” Korthax laughed wildly. “I can make it do whatever I want! Iä! Iä!” he roared.
The sleeping god—no, Jendara realized, that was wrong. What Korthax had called it? The starspawn?—the starspawn took a giant step toward them, sending out waves huge enough to nearly swamp the longship.
Fury began to boil in Jendara’s chest. This was where all her trouble came from. This was where the tsunami had come from—the rising of the island had displaced that great wall of water and sent it crashing down over Sorind. All the damage, all the trouble, all of it came from the denizens of Leng and their desire to control this monstrous being.
Lightning crackled off the starspawn’s massive domed head, and as if her thoughts had summoned them, she saw the sleek dark shape of the Leng ship, creeping away toward the rest of the archipelago. She had thought they’d all escaped through the portal, but enough had stayed to pilot their evil vessel.
Korthax saw it, too. He pointed the scepter at the Leng ship and roared something unintelligible. The scepter burned brighter in his hands.
The starspawn turned, just a little, sending huge ripples across the surface of the sea. Its eyes fixed on the black ship of Leng. A tentacle shot out, impossibly long, impossibly powerful, and pierced the side of the alien ship.
Korthax shrieked with delight. He raised the scepter again. But whatever he planned to do, Jendara knew she couldn’t let him do it. Rage boiled off the starspawn in palpable rays. The star scepter might control the go
d for now, but the starspawn’s mind was still mostly asleep. If it awoke—really and truly awoke—nothing in the world could keep it under control.
She threw herself at Korthax. They hit the deck hard, and she drove her fist into his face. He writhed underneath her, claws slashing at her sides. She slammed her forehead down on his, momentarily stunning him.
She reached for her belt axe.
The longship flew up into the air as a giant wave flung it away from the island. Jendara tumbled sideways, smashing into the base of the mast. Something crunched inside her. She lay still a moment, clutching her side.
Korthax rushed at her, the star scepter readied like a spear. Jendara tried to get up and felt her legs go out from under her.
Fylga sank her teeth into the ulat-kini’s leg. He screamed in pain and Jendara pushed herself upright. She brought up her axe.
The ulat-kini kicked the dog aside. He leveled the star scepter at Jendara. “Iä,” he began, but her axe struck him in the forehead. His eyes rolled up in his head, and he collapsed.
Jendara crawled to his side and pried the scepter from his fingers. Every movement hurt. Just breathing felt like her insides were on fire. She’d broken ribs before, but this time she thought she might have done real damage. But she couldn’t let that thing out there wake up.
She forced herself to her feet and turned to face the starspawn. She could feel its mind bearing down on her, crushing her will—not just her will to fight, but her very will to exist. The world was a place of darkness and evil. Everything would be so much better if she just laid down in the bottom of the boat and closed her eyes. Everything would be so much better.
Jendara forced her arms above her head. She didn’t know the ancient language that Korthax had used, but she’d heard enough. “Fhtagn,” she said, her voice barely a whisper. But the scepter’s glow brightened. She squeezed shut her eyes, wishing she could remember. “Sleep,” she begged it. “Just go back to sleep. You know the stars are wrong. Just—sleep.”
The starspawn pulled in its wings and stared back at her with its ancient alien eyes. The stars whimpered in her mind. All of time looked down at her and into her and she knew she was crying. All she wanted was to close her eyes and sleep.
The giant eyelids drooped. The island shuddered and began to sink down around the starspawn, and the creature began to sink with it, slowly at first, then faster and faster.
Jendara’s arms shook, but she didn’t lower the star scepter. She trained its light on the starspawn’s closed eyes and prayed to the ancestors and any god that could hear her that she was right about the stars.
Fylga barked, and Jendara turned to see what the dog saw: the clawed hand gripping the gunwale. Jendara dragged herself across the boat, spinning the star scepter so it faced the newest enemy staff end first. The deep one lashed out at her with its free hand, and she slammed the butt of the scepter into its face. It clung on tenaciously.
“Why are you attacking me? I’m worse off than you.” Her legs wobbled beneath her.
“Jendara!”
“Vorrin?” She peered out into the darkness, searching for the Milady’s lights on the dark sea. A tiny flicker caught her eye: the soft glow of a lantern sitting in the bottom of a dinghy. Vorrin was coming for her.
“Look behind you!” he shouted.
She turned again, slowly, unwillingly, and saw the whirlpool. The denizens of Leng’s great black ship was caught up in it, circling wildly around the sucking maw at the center of the maelstrom where the god had sunk beneath the waves. The starspawn was gone, and only the very tip of the island’s tallest spire still showed above the water. A deep one struggled to escape the downward pull, and then a chunk of debris slammed into it and drove it beneath the water.
The island’s hollow core was going to swallow them all.
“Get out of here, Vorrin!” Jendara screamed, or tried to scream, but it was harder to breathe every second. She dropped to her knees in the bottom of the boat. She could feel it surging toward the whirlpool, caught up in the island’s death.
The deep one clinging to the side stared back at her, panic flickering across its bulbous eyes as it realized she had no control over the longship, and that the boat could provide no safety. It threw itself backward into the sea. She felt a bit of pity for it. The deep ones had tried to keep the starspawn from waking. They could have been allies if things had been different.
“Jendara! Jump down here right now!”
The dinghy had pulled up right beside the longship. Fylga leaped over the gunwale and landed beside Vorrin. They both looked back at Jendara, expectant. Jendara pulled herself to her feet.
“Get away,” she whispered. “Too dangerous.”
“Get in here!” Vorrin ordered.
She shook her head. She didn’t have the strength to jump, and if Vorrin waited for her, he was going to get caught up in the whirlpool and die, too.
The dinghy bumped the side of the longboat. “You’re not going to make Kran an orphan, are you?”
Kran. Jendara forced herself to breathe as deeply as she could. Her boy was nearly grown, but he still needed her.
She fixed her eyes on Vorrin’s face and jumped.
It was more of a tumble, but the two boats were close enough she still made it inside, even if her side screamed and gray spots swam before her eyes. The star scepter dug into her shoulder, but she couldn’t sit up. Vorrin threw himself down and began to row hard and fast. The longship pulled away from them, hurrying toward the maelstrom. The dinghy stayed in one place, Vorrin’s rowing and the whirlpool’s powerful suction canceling each other out.
But there was no way he could row like this forever. A flailing ulat-kini shot past them, and then a scrap of shimmering silk, a final remnant of the giant spiders’ nest.
“What … are…” Vorrin’s face was red and he gritted his teeth, “they … waiting for?”
With a twang that Jendara heard over the wind and the rushing water and the shrieks of the drowning, a rope sprang tight at the prow of the dinghy. The dinghy shot backward a few feet and then slowly began to crawl away from the foaming maelstrom.
Lightning flickered in the distance, and she could see the Milady, its sails high and full-bellied as they caught the winter wind. It towed the dinghy along in its wake. They nearly flew across the water, speeding toward safety.
Jendara managed to sit up and look over her shoulder. The black ship of the denizens of Leng was gone, and Korthax’s longship stood tilted up on its nose, caught in the tug of the whirlpool. Its timbers groaned, and for a moment Jendara thought she saw a body tumble out into the water. It seemed somehow right that Korthax should join the ocean without any vessel to shelter or protect him.
She coughed and tasted blood, but she didn’t take her eyes off the whirlpool. It spun tighter and tighter, growling and gurgling like some angry beast. She sagged against the gunwale, watching the evidence of the island’s horror circle the closing spiral, and the scepter dug harder into her side.
Jendara tugged it out from beneath her. In a flash of lightning, the bronze device gleamed. If she didn’t know better, it could have been any kind of astronomical device, just a tool to measure the transit of the stars—not a powerful magical apparatus for controlling an ancient, powerful being.
She had just enough energy to hoist it above her head. “It’s your problem now, starspawn.”
The star scepter soared over the debris to splash into the whirling foam at the edge of the maelstrom. For an instant, she felt that terrible, ancient mind touch hers, and she shuddered.
There was a gurgle, and a whoosh, and the whirlpool closed on itself, leaving the water flat and quiet, with only a stained blot of foam to remind anyone that there had ever been a whirlpool or an island or the lost and angry spawn of an abysmal star.
29
THE DREAMER IN DARKNESS
Jendara awoke in her own bed on the Milady. Weak sunlight trickled in through the porthole, suggesting early morning. She
had slept only a few hours, but she felt a thousand times better than she had last night. She lay still a few minutes, enjoying the gently painful feeling that came from breathing. She patted her side and felt a stiff layer of bandages.
A clean set of clothes sat on the chart table. She eased herself out of bed and wriggled into them, happy to find her waterskin tucked underneath. Her mouth tasted like bitter herbs and scorched earth, the flavors she’d most associated with a healing potion. Glayn had saved her, then, even if she hadn’t saved his Tam.
She pulled on her boots and opened the cabin door. For a moment, she wanted to simply crawl back in bed and sleep for a day or a week or a month, but she needed to know how her people were doing. She walked outside. The air smelled like snow.
The deck was full. She counted at least twenty folks sitting with idle hands, and a full complement of sailors were at their posts. She recognized all the familiar faces: the baker and his wife; Kaleb, the owner of Sorind’s one tavern; Chana and Leyla chatting as they sat with a pile of mending. Her heart gave a squeeze. This wasn’t all that was left of Sorind, was it? They hadn’t lost all the other villagers?
Kran raced past her, Oric and Fylga on his heels. Only Fylga looked back at Jendara. The boys were too caught up in their merriment. It made Jendara feel a little better. If the boys could act like things were normal, then she could, too.
She found Zuna in the galley, brewing up a pot of tea. A crowd of villagers filled the space, some sitting in the pained sorrow of those who had lost everything, others playing cards or eating or simply talking in quiet voices. There was none of the laughter that came in a typical village gathering. Jendara caught Zuna’s eye and joined her at the stove.
“You all right?” Zuna asked. Unbidden, she pulled down a mug and filled it for Jendara.
Jendara nodded. “Right enough.” She looked out at the people crowding around the tables. “Is this everyone? All the … survivors?”
Zuna shook her head. “The ulat-kini didn’t get everyone,” she said. “Most folks had holed up inland after the wave, waiting for things to dry out.”
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