She glared at him. “Unfortunate for her.”
“Well, I’m sorry you came down here for nothing.”
Her eyes narrowed. He was a clever man. “What else is in that document?”
“Which one?”
“The Deeds of Mission Achawuk.”
“Oh, nothing. Nothing really.”
“I would like to see it.”
Fell looked a bit forlorn. “I don’t think it’s necessary, but if that is your wish…”
“Yes, and also my command.”
“I’ll bring them. No, wait. Those must be read within, and your dragoon cannot enter. Perhaps you could find a slightly…smaller guard?”
“Heavens. I’ll go in. Stave, wait here.”
“But ma’am…”
“Wait here!”
And she followed Usher Fell into the records room. The old priest laid a scroll out on the table. The young priest held the lantern. Panna leaned over, and began to read.
Then, as if on cue, Dirk Menafee stepped deftly from the shadows, grabbed Panna’s hair with one hand and put his pistol to the back of her neck with the other. He cocked the hammer.
The sailors were tying canvas, having furled most of the sails, keeping the ship in place. Now they stopped, the sunlight illuminating the sea. They saw the Firefish below, more Firefish than they had dreamed existed in the world. The beasts swam around and among one another, like eels poured into a pot. Hundreds. Maybe thousands.
“We’re cooked,” Delaney said as he looked down into the teeming mass. He got the sick impression that the Chase was floating on top of them, that the ocean had turned to monsters. They all looked small, but he knew they were not. Some were bigger than others; some were very young. But most were fully grown, fully formed, and fully capable of destroying a whole fleet of ships the size of the Trophy Chase.
“Tannan-thoh-ah,” Mutter Cabe said. He looked around the shores, and saw the men entering the water, swimming out to the Chase.
“What will happen?” Talon asked him.
“I don’t know much. Just stories from my youth.”
“What stories?”
“ ‘The Mastery,’ they call it. When everything changes. In the next world, man becomes the glory of the beast.”
“What does that mean?”
He shook his head. “It means we won’t see the sun rise on this world again.”
From his perch, Dayton Throme also saw the sun break through, saw it illumine the Trophy Chase, dazzling the sea, and then he saw what was below, under the water. The whole bottom of the sea was illumined as though through a crystal lens. The Firefish were dark gray, but the scales caught in the sunlight gleamed golden yellow. More of them than he had ever seen before. Across the entire bottom of these still waters, masses of them. All the Firefish in existence, he thought. Enough to destroy every ship on the ocean. Enough, perhaps, to destroy the world.
And as he watched, the first of many human waves entered the water, men with painted faces swimming out, their spears on loops of leather or twine around an arm, or around their necks.
“We’re done here. Come about,” Andrew Haas told the bosun. “We need hard port rudder and matching sail. We’re goin’ back the way we came.”
“Aye, aye,” Stil Meander answered, relief flooding his eyes. And then to the crew he boomed, “Stop yer gapin’, ye sheet-slittin’ slackdogs! We’re comin’ hard about!” And he began the ordering of the sails.
The men aboard the Chase turned from the fearful sight of the Firefish to their duties. Delaney and Mutter were among those on the foremast who loosed lines they had just finished tying, and unfurled canvas they had just furled, and did it gladly.
Talon looked at the quarterdeck with blazing eyes, up at the masts with bared teeth. “Belay that order!” she shouted, but her voice did not carry to the topmost yards, and judging by the lack of reaction from the sailors, didn’t carry to the lowest, either.
She leaped down to the foredeck in one bound, then cleared the rail and landed on the main deck in one more. Sailors who couldn’t seem to hear her watched in wonder. She was up the stair to the quarterdeck with her sword in her hand. Andrew Haas had just enough time to unsheathe his own blade before Talon disabused him of it. Hers flashed once and his flew over the rail and splashed into the sea.
But she did not quit coming at him; she pressed forward, and he backed into the cabin wall behind him, the edge of her blade against his throat, her left elbow pinning his shoulder to the wall. “Belay that order!” she hissed at him, “or die a mutineer!”
Haas remained silent.
“Belay that order!” Stil Meander boomed, waving his arms frantically, trying to save the first mate’s life. “Belay it now!”
Talon saw the action cease above her, and let Haas live. She pulled her sword away, but did not step back. “You had your orders.”
Frightened as he was, Andrew Haas still did not back down. “Kill me if you want, Talon. We’re all dead anyway if we stay here. There’s too many of the things. Can’t you see that? We need out of here, and we need out now. Sailing into smoke! The Achawuk are out there somewhere. And the Drammune! It’s a trap—it’s all a trap! We can’t survive it.”
“Those are opinions, sailor, and should be stated as such to your captain. Who wanted to take soundings here? Who wanted to drop anchor here? Was that me, or was that you?”
“Why me, a’ course.”
“And who said it would be too dangerous?”
“You did. Ma’am.”
“And what would have happened if we had taken soundings, or dropped anchor down onto those beasts?”
He swallowed hard.
“So who was right?”
“You were. Ma’am.”
She released him. “I know what you do not. Why does this smoke not choke us?” She looked up at all the men, addressing the entire crew. “Answer that! How can we breathe smoke?”
No one said a word.
“It does choke…a little bit,” Delaney offered in a whisper. Only nearby sailors heard him.
“Wood smoke blinds and stings and gags! This stuff…it is more fog than smoke. It is made by the Achawuk! Not to blind us! It is what keeps the Firefish below the sea. The beasts want to come up here. They want to feast on you, Mr. Haas.” She turned away from him. “And every one of your putrid carcasses.” She glared up into the rigging. “But they will not do so unless we behave like prey, so that they cannot resist. Do you want to behave like prey, Mr. Haas? With hundreds of predators watching from below? Do you want to run, and invite attack?”
He shook his head. “I didn’t think—”
“You didn’t think! Mr. Haas, I relieved you of your sword that you might not oppose me with it. The next time you disobey, I will relieve you of your head, and for the same purpose. Do you understand me now?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She looked above and around her. Satisfied they were meek enough, she turned back to Haas. “Now, heave to once again.”
“Heave to,” he managed, nodding at Stil Meander.
“We’re heavin’ to!” Meander called out.
“Yeah,” Delaney said darkly. “We’re heavin’ to. We’re heavin’ idiots to obey the likes a’ her.” And he took another look at Packer, who hadn’t even turned around from his perch on the bowsprit.
“He knows we’re powerless here,” Mutter Cabe said, climbing back up to work alongside Delaney. He was clearly relieved to get away from the decks, and farther away from both the Firefish and Talon. “The king has given up.”
“Packer? He’s done no such thing. He’s prayin’, that’s all.” But Delaney wondered.
Dayton saw still more Achawuk wade into the waters. Thousands upon thousands of warriors, faces painted dark blue or crimson or green, spears tied to leather thongs draped over shoulders. On each leather thong a chunk of blackened cork was fastened, flotation for the spear and, if required, for the man. Tens of thousands went, and more waited their tur
n. When they were all in the water, it would be enough to choke out the surface of the mayak-aloh, to assure that no ship could sail, or move. Enough to assure that no ship’s boat could be lowered, except into their waiting arms, and that no ship could be abandoned, except into their spears.
All these ships were doomed. Cattle to the slaughterhouse. He had been away from Nearing Vast for many years, and he knew his mind no longer worked along their paths. But why would these ships come here? There was nothing here. No rum here. No gold. No one from whom to steal. These were islands lost in time, a place of sand and water, sun and wind, of slow and peaceful life and sudden, brutal death. Firefish and Achawuk—those were their only assets. Both were deadly, and unmerciful. Why come here at all?
And why come to the mayak-aloh? If they had navigated through these waters two islands over, even one island away, they would have passed through the entire chain unmolested. Every Achawuk alive was gathered here, right here.
And still they came. One or two ships were still angling to enter. It seemed to Dayton as though the hand of God must have brought them here for judgment, or that the devil lured them all here to their destruction, to the one place in all the world they could never possibly escape.
It was a prophecy, after all—the tannan-thoh-ah. All of it was true.
And now there was nothing left in all the world to do but to stand and watch the slaughter.
“And now, they come,” Talon said softly, under her breath.
The sudden spike of sunlight was retracted back into the heavens. Clouds rolled back in, covering everything. The mist, or smoke, or whatever it was grew heavier. Andrew Haas stood by his captain’s side, watching the Marchessa appear from the haze astern, floating silently except for the slap of lapping waters on her prow. And then, well back, the Drammune ship Kaza Fahn. Haas was thankful there had been no fight between them as yet, but sorry they had come here at all. A fight in open waters would have saved at least some of them. The Firefish would not stop until all were destroyed.
“Their numbers…you believe to be in the thousands?” Talon asked.
Haas was confused. Then he looked where she was looking, over the port rail. She had not been talking about the Drammune, nor the Firefish, but the Achawuk. But he saw nothing, nothing except gray haze. “Where?”
“Look at the surface of the waters.”
All Haas could see were ripples coming toward him, out of the smoke. His heartbeat quickened. These tiny waves rode atop the larger ones, insignificant, the kind that might be created by two hundred pebbles strewn across two hundred yards of sea. Then he heard the gentle splashes, the sort children might make in a bathtub. These froze his heart.
The ripples grew denser.
“Battle stations,” Talon commanded quietly. “All hands. Your standing orders, Mr. Haas, are to heave to, and to fight like demons.” She looked him in the eye. “I trust you will find no reason to disobey.”
Haas shook his head. “No, ma’am. I won’t.”
She watched his eyes, studying him, impassive as a hawk.
He spun on his heel and called out, “Battle stations! Achawuk, port side!”
Stil Meander added his own booming voice. “To arms, ye blaggards!” he called out, “The savages have come to feast!”
Sailors dropped down from the rigging like coconuts from a palm tree. Talon walked among them as she went back to the prow of the Chase, once more to check on her prize, Packer Throme.
As she walked to the prow, she heard gunshots astern.
“Your Highness!” Stave Deroy shouted, pulling his pistol. But by the time he aimed it, the only person he could see was Panna. The gunman was behind her, using her as a shield.
“Do it!” Usher Fell hissed, barely above a whisper. “Why are you waiting?”
Dirk Menafee bared his teeth, but did not pull the trigger.
“Kill her! You will have your reward!”
Dirk swung the barrel of the gun toward Father Fell. “You have all the proof you need?” he asked, not at the priest, but into the darkness behind him.
“Yes, quite enough, Mr. Menafee.” Two deputies and the Sheriff of Mann stepped from the shadows. The deputies grabbed Father Fell by the arms and began to manacle his hands behind his back. The sheriff, a young, square-jawed official who radiated the integrity of competence, was a protégé and staunch admirer of the late Bench Urmand.
“This is outrageous!” the priest started. But then, after glaring once at Dirk, he thought better of protesting.
Dirk holstered his pistol. “Sorry, ma’am, if I scared you at all.”
Panna straightened herself. “You were…convincing. But no harm done. Thank you.” She turned to Usher Fell now, looked at him as she spoke, watched his expression slide from anger to dismay. “Your actions are punishable by death.”
“Persecution,” he said to her. “Martyrdom. Your retribution will only strengthen the Church of God.” Then he turned to Dirk Menafee. “And I’ll want my money back.”
“Not likely.”
Aghast, the priest asked him, “Do you have any idea what you’ve just passed up?”
“No, I don’t,” the grizzled one replied. “And see, that’s the problem. This queen here, she does what she says. Like it or not. But that one you serve? She’s likely to do or say anything to get her way. I think she’s out of her screamin’ mind, frankly.”
Fell could not disagree, and so spoke no more as he was led away.
Huk Tuth heard the roar of gunfire, too, but he ignored the sound. The blasts came from behind him in the haze. Drammune were attacking the Vast, just as he was about to do. Tuth had not seen the momentary shaft of light that illumined the beasts below. He had eyes only for his chosen prey. The great ship had slowed to almost a stop. He did not spend a moment worrying about why that might be.
“To port,” Tuth ordered, “fifteen degrees, all speed.” He glowered at the banner of the Vast flying high above those cloudy billows, above the ship that had become his nemesis. The Marchessa would provide protection for that ship on her starboard side, the weather gauge. Fine. The Fahn would attack from port.
“All hands to the lee rails! Ready cannon! Ready grappling guns! I want the Trophy Chase!”
The gunfire came from behind the Kaza Fahn from Rake’s Parry. The Achawuk had let the Fahn go, but now the warriors arrived, thick and dense, corks bobbing, spear tips up, as the Vast ship came to them.
The captain of the Parry ordered his men to open fire. Like the Marchessa, his ship carried huntsmen. They could shoot, and now they did. A hundred weapons fired, a hundred Achawuk ceased swimming and sank beneath the surface. These warriors, the first names written on the role of the dead within the mayak-aloh today, were pushed down under the surface by their brethren, who followed in their bloody wake without a word.
As the warriors neared the ship, their spears were in their hands, their solitary objective clear in their minds. When they reached the hull, the hammering began. Spears bit deeply into wood. Crewmen froze. They’d heard all the stories. They knew that sound. Their officers called out firm and unflinching orders, while unsteady fingers reloaded warm and empty weapons. The few cannon remaining after the refit barked futilely, like watchdogs chained to a post. The Achawuk were too close, too dense, too many. Sailors fired down on their foes from the rails, lightning lashing out in anger. But more foes came. For every swimmer shot, two more reached the hull. For every two shot on the hull, four climbed up behind. In the time it took the men to reload once, another rung of spears reached up the hull, a scaffold of destruction, a trellis built slat by slat, climbed by living vines, multicolored in shades of red and green and blue, growing upward at a deadly rate in some horrible dream.
The Parry would be boarded. She would be overrun. She was lost.
“The blood is in the water,” Talon said to Packer, listening as the firing continued astern. She stood on the deck just behind him, looking up toward him. “You must command the beasts. To save your
men. To save your ships. You must command them to attack your enemies.”
He did not look back at her. He kept his eyes closed. He had been offering himself up alive, ready to die or live within God’s power. Her words were a hot knife down his back, pulling him away, drawing him toward her, toward a course that was as reasonable as any he could imagine in the world. But it was not his chosen course.
“They stir,” she said, and pointed down at the ocean floor. Her voice, more than her words seared him.
Packer’s eyes opened on their own, and were drawn down into the sea. Another shaft of light, not so strong but strong enough, filtered down to the ocean floor. The crawling movements of the beasts were something more than that now. A pattern had developed. They aligned themselves. The Firefish were circling. Slowly now, clockwise, like a whirlpool forming.
And then he saw the yellow glow begin.
“Yes,” she whispered. “They come alive. They rise.” The Firefish below the Chase were in fact rising. They were changing, turning from dark gray to yellow, growing larger as they came closer. The blood was in the water. They could not resist.
Fear rose in Packer. It was a physical sensation, like a cold sword blade in his belly, up through his chest. His knees and feet tingled, his joints felt loose, as though he were hanging out over nothing, a thousand feet up, and the ground was turning far below. He was a powerless puppet perched on a stick of wood above a lair of monsters, with another monster behind him.
He knew what Talon expected.
Do not forsake me, Packer prayed. But his heart melted. His hands and arms shook.
Talon saw the tremor and leaped up on the bowsprit just behind him. She whispered in his ear. “Where is your God?” she asked. “Where is His power? Does He yet hold you in His hand? Or is He gone?”
Resist not evil…Those words came to Packer. And they crushed him. He was ordered not to contend with Talon, and yet the power he trusted to save him was gone.
His mind relaxed, his head fell backward. He could not defeat her. He was in God’s hands. He was in her hands. And he could not tell the difference.
The Trophy Chase Saga Page 116