Scimitar's Heir

by Chris A. Jackson

  The priestess grasped the blade at both points where it met Cynthia’s flesh. Light flared from her holy icon, and Feldrin heard a muffled snap. In one swift movement, Kelpie drew the blade out of Cynthia’s chest and back, one piece in each hand, the sword broken cleanly in the middle. She laid the pieces aside, then placed her hands over the gaping wounds. Once again Kelpie’s icon flared, but this time the pearly light flowed down her arms to her hands, and Cynthia’s skin began to glow beneath the mer’s webbed fingers.

  ≈

  A cool light pierced the fog of Cynthia’s mind, and the pain receded before it, draining away like water from lightly cupped hands. Cynthia felt her skin flush with warmth, and drew a deep, painless breath. Her eyes fluttered open and focused upon the wood of a ship’s deck crowded with milling feet. Gentle hands rolled her onto her back, and she stared up into the wide, scaly face of a mer she recognized immediately.

  “Kelpie? What…” She looked down; the sword was gone. Her fingers touched her chest, but she felt only a thin raised scar instead of the gaping wound she had expected. Then she remembered where she had been, and why, looked around in a panic. “My baby! Where’s—”

  “He’s here, lass,” Feldrin said, his voice thick with relief. He was kneeling beside her, and she looked where he gestured, to a kindly sailor rocking their child in her arms. The woman handed the baby to Feldrin, and he held him out to show Cynthia, even as Mouse lit on her shoulder and showered her with kisses. “He’s fine, Cyn. You’re fine.”

  The mer priestess interrupted with an urgent clap of her hands, and signed, *Seamage Flaxal! You must hurry! Akrotia lives, but something is wrong!*

  Cynthia’s eyes widened with the memory of their flight from the Chamber of Life, the fiery symbols on the walls, and the growing pressure of Edan’s magic. She could feel it; Edan’s fire was all around them, and it was growing.

  She grasped Feldrin’s arm. “Help me up! We’ve got to move the ship out of the harbor. Now!” She grimaced as he helped her rise; Kelpie’s healing had closed her wounds, but a heavy weakness pervaded her limbs, and her head swam with dizziness as she stood. She staggered to the rail and stared out at the tracery of yellow-white light climbing the walls and towers. Akrotia shuddered, and she felt a wave of heat on her skin and the pressure of swelling fire-magic in her mind.

  “Captain!” called a lookout, and both Feldrin and Cynthia looked up. “The gate’s closin’!”

  They looked toward the towering arch of the harbor gate, and her breath caught in her throat as she spied a glint of bronze around the inner edge. Huge bronze plates were slowly emerging, like one of the smaller iris doors inside the city, constricting the entrance.

  “Eeep?” Mouse chirped fearfully from her shoulder.

  “Closing?” Feldrin said. “But why in the hells…”

  “It’s Edan,” Cynthia explained. “He’s bringing Akrotia to life, Feldrin, except it’s his magic, fire magic. I can feel it! If we’re trapped in here, we’ll be boiled alive!” She gripped the rail and called the winds. Canvas cracked, and the deck lurched as Orin’s Pride started to move.

  “All hands, tend yer sails!” Feldrin called out, lurching to the binnacle, their son cradled in one arm. The baby screeched out his discontent. “Helmsman, make for the harbor mouth. Sheet in that main, Horace! Brace the fore-top! Sharply now!”

  Sailors scrambled past Cynthia, carrying out Feldrin’s orders, but her attention was elsewhere. The ship was moving, but one glance at the harbor mouth confirmed her worry. Too slow, she thought, gripping the rail with white-knuckled fervor. She coaxed a tendril of seawater up the side of the hull to wet her feet, felt her link with the sea solidify, and urged the waters around the ship to propel them. Orin’s Pride surged forward, wind and water acting as one.

  Kelpie pulled herself to Cynthia’s side and caught her eye. *Beware Eelback’s allies! They seek to devour us all!*

  As if in answer, a lookout at the fore-top called out, “Captain, there’s a whole school of them eel things blockin’ our way!”

  “Cyn?”

  “Just keep her trimmed and on course, Feldrin. I’ll do the rest.”

  “All idle hands to the windward rail!” he ordered. The sudden shift of weight decreased their heel, forcing a bit more speed out of the wind she was providing.

  Cynthia concentrated upon the sea before them and the mass of writhing bodies that Kelpie had warned her about. Whatever these things were, they were packed so tightly that Cynthia couldn’t even tell how many there were. There was no easy path through them, but this, at least, was a threat that she could deal with.

  She drew the power of the sea into a concentrated pressure wave of such intensity that the surface of the water misted in an arc out from the bow of Orin’s Pride. The wave hit the school of creatures like a battering ram, pulping every living thing in its path, and shaking the very walls of the harbor. The ship charged through the slick of shredded corpses, and a ragged cheer rose from the crew.

  Cynthia turned her attention to the harbor gate. The huge bronze plates of the gate shuddered, screeching like a thousand swords shearing through stone, and shivering the air and sea alike. She felt the remnants of the coral that had blocked the entrance heave up as the plates broke through the limestone. The gate was closing, and it was closing fast.

  Too fast.

  “We’re not gonna make it, Cyn,” Feldrin shouted, echoing her thought. “It’s gonna dismast her! Can you push the water down?”

  “It’s too shallow!” She tried to gauge the depth as the shattering coral heaved up. “The gate is pushing the reef higher.”

  “How about punchin’ out the reef, then?”

  “I’m doing all I can!” she cried, straining to push the ship a little faster. She gauged their speed and the diminishing aperture, and knew that they wouldn’t make it. Her knees trembled, and Cynthia sagged against the rail, her strength ebbing, her vision going gray at the edges.

  “Topmen, on deck!” Feldrin cried, calling the sailors down from the rigging, which made sense. If the masts hit, anyone aloft would be killed. His next order, however, caught her off guard. “All idle hands to the leeward rail on my word! Cyn, can you give me a gust as we pass through the gate?”

  “I’ll try, Feldrin, but what—”

  “No time! Just do it when I say. I want to lay her over on her side as we pass.” He squinted at the closing aperture. “Horace, steer her a hundred feet starboard of center.”

  Cynthia looked at the gate, the circular gate, and understood. If the ship stayed vertical, it occupied the space from below the water’s surface to the top of the descending gate, and the reef was making that even shallower. But if they lay the ship over on her side, she could pass off center, and might just scrape through without striking either her masts or her keel.

  At this speed, either mishap could split the ship right down the middle.

  “Close haul all sheets!” Feldrin bellowed.

  Orin’s Pride heeled as the sails were pulled tighter and the mainmast, still sporting Dura’s hasty repair, groaned. Cynthia spared a glance at Feldrin; he stood with one hand clutching the binnacle, and the other cradling their son. With all the commotion, Cynthia thought the baby would be hysterical, but he lay comfortably and quietly in his father’s grasp, staring up at Feldrin’s face as if caught in a moment of wonder. His father’s son, a true sailor.

  She turned forward and tried to marshal the strength to supply the gust of wind that would lay the ship over. She bit her lip until she tasted blood, unsure if she could do it. A cool hand on her arm startled her; Kelpie was beside her, her webbed hand glowing with Odea’s blessing. Strength surged into Cynthia like a refreshing wave, washing away her fatigue and steadying her legs. She smiled her thanks and concentrated on her task.

  “NOW!”

  Cynt
hia called forth a hard gust and pressed the sea against the opposite side of the keel as the crew rushed across the deck to the port-side rail. The ship heeled sharply, so far over that water jetted though the scuppers, then spilled over the leeward rail. Cries rang out as sailors scrabbled for handholds. The boarding sea surged past Cynthia without touching her, and she felt Kelpie’s grip harden on her arm. She ignored everything, maintained her focus. Nothing else existed for her but the wind and the sea.

  Orin’s Pride surged through the gate heeled so far over that her deck was nearer vertical than horizontal, her masts lying almost flat upon the sea. Her keel cleared the closing gate by less than the height of a man. Her topmasts, however, were not so fortunate.

  Mouse’s shriek of alarm reached Cynthia’s ears an instant before the tip of the fore-topmast struck the gate with a tremendous crack. The fore-topsail yard twisted madly, the bracing lines trailing with the shattered spar. But the gate continued to spiral shut, and struck the main-topmast at its midpoint. The trestletrees shattered, and the entire main-topmast was carried away. Its supporting lines gone, the mainsail gaff dangled, and the huge mainsail flapped out of control. Splinters and twisted bronze bindings showered the canted deck, and heavy wooden blocks swung wildly. The main boom sagged, and only the furling lines kept it from crashing down on the crew. The main-topmast splashed into the sea behind them, trailing lines snapping like a coachman’s whip, and blocks smashing splinters from the taffrail as they were dragged overboard.

  But they were through.

  The ship righted as the flapping mainsail spilled wind, and Cynthia eased the wind until they were upright. A ragged cheer rose from the throats of the sodden sailors, and Mouse cheered with them as he shot back and forth through the tattered rigging.

  Cynthia leaned on the rail, her strength ebbing again, and heard the distinctive tap of Feldrin’s peg leg as he hobbled to her side. She didn’t even have the strength to look up at him. Instead, she sagged to the deck, her back against the bulwark, and found herself staring into Kelpie’s blank eyes. The mer priestess lay on the deck beside Cynthia, her neck twisted, a huge contusion on her brow where a flailing block had struck. Kelpie, Odea’s priestess, was dead.

  “Oh gods,” Feldrin muttered as he struggled to kneel beside her.

  “She…she saved us, Feldrin,” Cynthia whispered between sobs, reaching to touch the mer’s still features. “I don’t know why. First she betrayed us, then…she saved us.”

  “She did,” he agreed. The massive gate boomed closed behind them. As they looked back, light flared from the stone arch, liquid fire tracing along its perimeter.

  “I hate to ask this, Cyn, but we’re still too close fer my comfort. Do you think you can keep the winds up a bit longer? We need to get well clear.”

  “Yes.” Cynthia drew a deep breath, sniffed, then reached out to brush her son’s brow. “How is he?”

  Feldrin looked down at the inexplicably calm child. The little sea-green eyes stared calmly up at him, one chubby fist clenched firmly in his father’s beard. Feldrin smiled, and the sight of the two of them, father and son, lifted Cynthia’s heart.

  “He’s fine, Cyn.” He handed their son over to her, joyful tears coursing down his cheeks. “He’s alive and he’s fine. Now let’s get the hells away from this cursed thing.”

  “Yes,” she said. She cradled her baby and held him close. She looked into those eyes and knew instantly what his name would be. “Let’s.”

  Feldrin stood and helped her to her feet. She was still dreadfully weak, and she accepted his aid as they walked back to the cuddy cabin. He settled her onto the bench there, then went forward to give Horace his orders.

  Cynthia raised the baby to her breast to feed, leaned her head back against the cabin, and let the sun warm her face. She listened to the bustle of the crew as they trimmed the remaining sails, replaced the broken cordage, and cut away the shattered spars so they could install the replacements hauled up from the hold. For the first time in a long, long while, she was content. Too many had died, too much sacrificed for her to be happy, but, for the moment, she was content. Cynthia summoned a gentle wind, and Orin’s Pride sailed north while Akrotia burned behind them.

  ≈

  “We stay!” Uag insisted, waving his bloodied cutlass in a crimson arc. “We wait for Capt’n Sam!”

  He kicked Glaf’s body into the water without turning his back on the remaining crew. Braf and Fak were against him, but Sepa was still unsure. She stood back from the others, her face etched with lines of worry. There was plenty to worry about; the floating island was shaking and shuddering like the convulsions of a dying man, and the very stone was coming alive with magic.

  “We will die if we stay here, Uag!” Braf shouted, pointing his own cutlass at Uag. “Capt’n Sam has failed. We are alone.”

  “We will die if we leave without her,” Uag countered. “We cannot find our way home without her.”

  “She said we could not, but I think this was a lie to keep us from killing her,” Fak said. “If we sail north, we can—”

  A stronger tremor shook the island, and the water of the harbor danced with the deep vibration. Then the screech of metal on stone shook the air. The arch above them flared with light, and massive bronze plates began to emerge from the inside edge, then ground to an abrupt halt.

  “It is a trap!” Braf shouted, his tone now panicked. “Uag, the jaws of a trap are closing on us. We must leave while we can!”

  Uag glared at them, at the glowing stone city, at the huge blades of the gate over their heads. Heat radiated from the stone, and the water lapping against it had begun to steam. He looked along the broad avenue that ringed the city, but there was no sign of Captain Sam. She had said that she would not take long in the city, and that he should wait until sunset. The metallic grating shrilled again, and the bronze blades descended another foot before halting. Looking closely, Uag saw that they were not just coming down from above, but from all sides, and maybe even from under the water. They were moored at the edge of the reef; if those huge plates closed, they would miss Manta’s bows by only a man’s height, and the shattered coral could capsize them. Uag made a decision.

  “We go! Cut the mooring line and man oars!”

  “Good!” Braf and Fak grasped their oars while Sepa ran forward and slashed the mooring line. She returned and grabbed her own oar, and Uag took the other. The four oars dipped, and Manta backed sluggishly away from the arch.

  Metal shrieked against stone, and the water beneath the arch shuddered in wavelets. The gate was closing.

  “Quickly!” Uag pulled on his oar until it threatened to snap at the lock, willing the craft to move faster. Manta eased away from the coral.

  Yellow-white light flared from the arch, and the great bronze blades scythed down.

  Metal screeched against thousand-year-old coral, and the sea heaved up under the arch. The coral split, and a huge section lurched up and flipped, nearly hitting Manta’s bows when it splashed down. The resulting wave pitched the twin hulls up, and the ship lurched backward. Spray and splinters of flying stone showered the deck, but they were clear, and their cries of shock and surprise changed to howls of laughter.

  “We are free!” Fak cheered, flinging aside his oar and lurching to his feet.

  “Yes,” Uag said, his own mood less elated. He stared at the glowing city. “We are free of the city, but Capt’n Sam is gone.” He turned to the others. “We have no way to find home.”

  “There!” Sepa cried, her eyes wide as she pointed to the west. “A ship!”

  “It’s one of the sea witch’s ships,” Uag said, both worried and hopeful. “Maybe we can follow—” he stopped as a cool breeze touched his cheek.

  “There is wind!” Fak cried. “We can sail!”

  “Hoist all sails!” Uag ordered, leaping into
the cockpit and grasping the wheel. “We will follow them. Manta is fast enough to avoid them if they try to attack, and—”

  “Uag!” Sepa called from the bow where she fought to free the furled jib. “There is something in the water under the boat. Something like snakes!”

  “Snakes?” That was ridiculous. Why would there be snakes in the water? But when Uag leaned over the transom to look, he saw between the floating rafts of weed a school of writhing shapes. They clustered around the twin hulls, their tails quivering rapidly as if they were pushing at the ship’s sides.

  “I don’t like this,” he said, reaching for his cutlass. “Hoist all sail. We will outrun them.”

  In moments, Manta was easing forward, but her pace was slow. Uag looked over the side again. Though the water seemed murky, he could glimpse the snake-creatures still stuck on the hulls.

  “Braf, get spears!” he ordered. “We will get these creatures off and sail away.”

  Braf hurried down the companionway, but his shout of alarm brought Uag up short.

  “Uag! There’s something—”

  The man’s shout devolved into a scream so horrible that everyone stopped and stared at the hatch. It reminded Uag of the scream of a particularly feisty meal, not of a seasoned warrior. A blood and slime-covered hand reached up to grasp the hatch coaming, and Braf heaved himself up into the cockpit. Another scream issued from the man’s mouth, and Uag saw why; his body was covered with cuts and a layer of thick mucus, and one of the creatures was attached to him. Its long, hooked tentacles were buried deep in his back, and its short arms grasped his leg, holding on as it tore into him with dagger-sharp teeth.

  “Kill it! Kill it!” Braf screamed, frantically trying to tear the tentacles from his flesh.

  Uag backed away, too horrified to remember the cutlass in his hand and too revolted at the slimy creature to venture too close. Braf beat at the wriggling thing, but his blows fell to no effect. The teeth ripped at him, and gouts of blood, flesh and viscera vanished down its maw.