Dead Stars - Part Two (The Emaneska Series)

by Ben Galley

  Farden wore the same disturbed look as the Siren. ‘Do we have to get so close to them?’ Even though he had grown to trust the ‘Blade and its strength, there was nothing like a tower of ice floating within spells-reach to shake that trust. Farden watched the white giant slide silently past the ship. It was huge. Its glittering tip easily matched the height of the mainmast. That alone made the mage nervous, but what secretly terrified him was that however huge the icebergs were above the water, they were easily more than twice as large underneath it. He resisted the morbid urge to look down at the cold blue of its huge, submerged roots, gnarled and deadly as they were, to see how close they came to the ship. He doubted any ship, no matter how ironclad and huge it was, could hit one and survive. That made Farden sweat beneath his cloak.

  ‘They’re goin’ to get much closer than that, mister mage. Have no fear,’ Roiks waved his hand absently at the northern horizon, where a veritable flotilla of giant icebergs were slowly ambling towards them. Seeing the looks on Farden and Eyrum’s faces, Roiks chuckled. ‘Relax. Nuka knows what ‘e’s doing. Used to be a whaler, he did. You always find the best whales up in the iceberg fields. Knows this patch of the sea like ‘is head knows a pillow.’

  Farden ran a hand across his chin and felt the Scalussen metal grate against his stubble. It was warm from clutching the farska. ‘That’s hardly comforting,’ Farden said. ‘I haven’t seen him take a wink of sleep since I set foot on this boat.’

  ‘Bah. It’s no worse than the Bitches.’

  Eyrum didn’t know what that meant. ‘Is it any better?’

  Worryingly, Roiks shrugged. ‘Depends if the weather holds,’ he said with a grin. He tapped his nose as he walked away, off on the hunt for more farska.

  Eyrum had finally retrieved the long black hair from his cup. With a grimace he flicked it over the bulwark and into the sea below. ‘Give me a dragon any day.’

  Roiks should have put some coin on his words. The Waveblade was shipshape in less than an hour. While half the crew worked like daemons to get the deck cleared, the other half took to the mangled rigging, hacking and splicing it into something functional. Farden and Eyrum did their bit with a pair of brooms and a stomach full of hot farska trying to quell their queasiness.

  Even Ilios did his bit. The gryphon vacated his little makeshift nest just long enough to test his healed wings and circle around a few icebergs. He returned with something huge and wriggling in his claws. The gryphon had caught a spotted shark in the cobalt shallows of a hollow iceberg, and had decided it would make a good reward for the crew.

  The cooks came up from the galleys to see the thing. Tinbits wasn’t quite sure what to do with the wriggling, gnashing thing. The word “lunchfast” was quickly mentioned, and Gabbant finished it off with a vicious tap from his favourite belaying pin.

  Of course, nobody knows how to cook a shark better than a Siren. Eyrum led some of his more able-bodied refugees in skinning and gutting the huge beast. Cauldrons were brought up from below and a cooking party was formed right there on the bow. Nuka called a morning’s rest for the crew and the soldiers, and ordered Roiks to break out a few beakers of mörd and ale for the fine job they had done.

  With the help of a little fire from the mages, the stew soon began to bubble. Mouths began to salivate accordingly. Seats were made out of bundles of sailcloth and battered hatches. One of the Sirens broke out a pair of pipes and a shaky voice. He soon had the crew yelling old shanties and mismatched ballads.

  It was a spontaneous morning, and somehow they are always the best sorts of mornings. Only Nuka stayed alone and quiet by his precious wheel, making sure to keep his ship safely along its wandering path between the floating mountains of ice that were now crowding around them. He half smiled, half winced as he listened to Roiks leading the crew in a bawdy song about a donkey and a princess. Some of the Siren mothers turned a little pink at the nature of its lyrics, but didn’t complain. They were amongst sailors, after all. Siren or Arka, a sailor’s vocabulary is the same.

  It took an hour for the shark to cook, but barely a minute for the hungry crowd to empty the cauldrons. Mugs and cups and bowls and ladles swung in like picks to a coal-face, and soon enough everyone was tentatively sipping at their sumptuous stew. It was salty and sweet at the same time, with the sharp edge of the meaty shark and more than a few drops of the Siren syngur liquor.

  And so the remaining hours of the morning passed by. The sun reached its zenith for the day, but did nothing to warm the air. They were firmly in the north now. There was a bitter edge to the wind, as if it were bringing them a little slice of the ice wastes with every gust. The crew, the Sirens, the soldiers, and the mages all huddled together in tight circles, not caring a damn for who or what their neighbours were. Such is the magick of hot food and company on a cold day.

  Farden managed to sneak away from one of Roiks’ infamous stories to bring Nuka a serving of stew. The captain thanked him and licked his lips at the smell of the meaty, salty broth. He hesitated when he realised he had to let go of the wheel. ‘Would you, mage?’

  Farden pulled a face. ‘You sure? What about the icebergs?’

  Nuka tapped the wood of the wheel and Farden gripped it with both hands. The metal of his gauntlets clanked against the polished wood and its brass bindings. Nuka smiled. ‘After last night, I think you can handle a few lumps of ice,’ he said.

  Farden felt his awareness of the ship’s movements grow. Through the wheel he could feel every dip of every little wave, every twitch of the wind in the half-raised sails. ‘I’m not sure lump is an adequate word.’

  Nuka gulped down his stew, not caring for its heat. ‘Just treat them like sleeping bears. Don’t go near them.’

  Farden smiled. ‘Good advice.’

  Nuka was watching the men and women below. ‘The crew can’t believe their luck, I can tell. It’s not every day I let them have the morning off. Slackers,’ he chuckled. ‘But they deserve it after last night. Haven’t seen a storm like that for almost a decade now. That’s what you get for testing the Nelska cape.’

  ‘How far north have you gone?’

  ‘As far as any ship can go.’

  ‘I see.’

  Nuka stretched. ‘But this isn’t any ship, now is it? Her iron hull will cut through the ice like a boot through a puddle.’

  Farden looked a little confused. ‘Through… the ice?’

  ‘What? You thought her iron was just for war? No, mage. This ship was made to break ice.’

  The mage still didn’t like what he was hearing. ‘So we’re going to sail into the ice.’

  ‘As far as we can.’

  ‘Sounds utterly safe.’

  ‘You’ll see,’ Nuka yawned. He had rings the colour of tar around his bloodshot eyes. His speech was slow and languid, but his tone was blunt; the night had worn his patience thin. Farden was about to suggest a few hours of sleep when the captain walked to the edge of the aftcastle and tapped his mug on the railing. ‘Lerel!’ he called. Lerel popped up out of the crowd and began to make her way to the wheel. Nuka turned back to the mage. ‘The problem is finding a place for the ‘Blade to break into the ice. You could sail these waters for a hundred years and no inch of them would look the same two days in a row. You see, the ice is constantly either melting, freezing, or sliding off the land. Hence, it’s constantly moving. I know these waters better than most, but it’s the ice I don’t know.’

  ‘Cap’n?’ asked Lerel, as she sauntered across the deck towards them. She gave Farden a tired smile, and the mage winked back,

  ‘Where’re your eyes, Lerel?’ asked Nuka.

  ‘Here,’ she said, tossing her spyglass to Nuka. He caught it deftly and put the thinner end of it to his eye, squinting like an owl in the daylight.

  ‘As I thought,’ he muttered, handing the spyglass back to Lerel, who also put it to her eye.

  Farden squinted into the distance. ‘What is it?’ he asked.

  ‘Ice cliffs, and nothing but, for m
iles in either direction,’ Lerel answered.

  ‘I take it that’s bad?’ Farden asked.

  Lerel answered this one too. ‘It could put us days behind. Here,’ she said, handing him the spyglass.

  It was lighter than he expected, and sturdier too. He lifted it to his eye and squinted. He could see the ice cliffs glittering, so close he felt he could have thrown something at them. They were sheer, and enormous. Farden grit his teeth. ‘That won’t do. Not at all.’

  They were interrupted by the sound of boots treading on stairs. It was Tyrfing. He looked as though he had just woken up, which in truth, he had. He looked awful. ‘What are you three looking so glum about?’

  Farden ‘We need to f…’

  Thump.

  It was a solid sound, like the falling of a fat acorn in the loam, except that they were the furthest from any oak or loam anyone can be, and the acorn sounded as though it were the size of a house. There was an awkward silence on the aftcastle. Farden clutched the wheel, feeling the shivers run through the ship as the vibrations died. ‘Erm, what was that?’ he asked, very quietly. Half the deck had let the noise slip by, unnoticed, deep in their own conversations. The other half looked about, confused.

  ‘Ice,’ suggested Lerel, putting her hand to the wheel. She accidentally brushed Farden’s gauntlet.

  ‘No,’ Nuka shook his head, the tiredness fading a little from his eyes. ‘Ice doesn’t sound like that,’ he said.

  Thump!

  Another dull echo shook the ship, and this time everybody aboard felt it. A hush came over the Waveblade. People either looked to their feet or got to them. A few sailors went to the bulwarks and peered into the slate-grey water below.

  Farden looked worried. ‘Well, please enlighten us, Captain,’ he said, as his hands rattled with the tremors. ‘And please don’t say leviathan.’

  ‘You’re on the right track, mage,’ said Nuka. He had a glassy look in his eye, as if a younger man long forgotten had suddenly occupied them. He walked softly, almost gliding, to the railing and looked down at the long, dark shadows sliding under the surface of the water, effortless as dust on the wind. His hand grabbed the wooden rail like a spear. ‘Whales,’ he hissed.

  ‘Whale!’ came a cry from one of the sailors. A murmur ran across the hushed deck, mainly from the old whalers in the crew.

  Farden left the wheel in Lerel’s hands and went to look, brandishing his spyglass. He had never seen a live whale before. A dead one, yes. Once on a beach in Albion, and once splayed out on a wharf in Krauslung’s harbour. Both times he had found them sad, solemn-looking creatures, but that was hardly surprising, given their circumstances.

  These whales were smaller and faster than he had imagined. They were a midnight black for the most part, and yet had patches of white here and there. Their fins, tall like the flattened masts of ships, threatened to break the surface with every duck and swerve. They were fast. A trio of them came broadside to the ship and darted towards her, lurching with every strong flick of their wide, flat tails. Just before they struck her iron sides they dove and disappeared into the darkness of the water, rocking the ship with their waves. Farden could hear the dull thump and thwack of their passing tails.

  ‘Sea-wolves!’ Roiks shouted over the growing buzz of voices, causing several of the mages to stand closer to the railing.

  Farden watched as another four whales darted underneath the ship. They were huge still, but not quite as large as he had expected. ‘I thought whales were supposed to be harmless,’ he said.

  Eyrum was striding up the steps to the aftcastle. ‘Until you try to harm them. These are the blackfish. Orca, the dragons call them. Forbidden to hunt. Farfallen used to say that these whales had dragon souls in them.’

  ‘Njord’s creatures,’ said Lerel.

  Nuka was counting the whales as they circled the ship. ‘Dragon teeth too, if you’re ever unlucky enough to find out. Vicious creatures. They even eat their own kind,’ he said gruffly, sounding very suddenly like the whaler he had once been.

  Eyrum snorted at that. ‘Bah. Myth,’ he scoffed.

  Nuka shook his head. ‘I’ve seen it, Siren. They eat their own kind.’

  ‘They’re intelligent creatures. Not mindless thugs.’

  ‘And you’re telling me no dragon, no wild wyrm, has ever eaten another dragon?’ asked the captain.

  Eyrum didn’t reply to that.

  ‘Ready the bows!’ ordered Nuka. ‘Be ready to send them packing!’ Farden flinched at that order. He could see a little grimace flash across Lerel’s face too.

  ‘Surely they can’t hurt the ‘Blade?’ asked the mage.

  ‘I won’t take any chances. There’s a dozen of them by my count, and there’s a reason they call them sea-wolves. They hunt like a pack and make waves that can roll a boat over.’

  ‘But this isn’t a boat.’

  ‘True, but I’m still not taking any chances.’

  Farden ventured a sudden idea. ‘Maybe they can help us,’ he suggested.

  ‘Help with what?’

  Farden scratched his chin. He watched the black shapes circling the ship. Their fins were breaking the water now, like those of sharks. While the others ducked and dove and slapped the ship with their tails, a few others, their white bellies stippled with long scars, stayed a safe distance away. They gently bobbed up and down, pointing their strange sharp noses to the sky. Farden realised exactly what it looked like. Elders, watching the young playing a game. ‘You said yourself that we need to find thinner ice for the ‘Blade to go ashore. Who could know better than these whales?’

  ‘I was going to use the gryphon. Or a dragon,’ replied Nuka, looking horrified by the idea of asking a whale for help. ‘They, at least, can talk.’

  ‘Suit yourself,’ Farden shrugged, tucking the spyglass into the inside of his cloak. ‘I’m going to go ask for directions.’

  ‘Mage,’ warned Nuka, as Farden practically jumped down the stairs. He wove through the crowds of people at the bulwarks, jostling his way to the front. Once there, he took one swift look at the freezing sea below him, grit his teeth, and hoisted himself up onto the railing, much to the gasping of those around him.

  ‘Man over the railing!’ yelled a nearby sailor, rushing to grab Farden and haul him back onto deck. The mage just batted him away and kept moving. He was now clinging to one of the stout metal shields that had been riveted to the side of the ship. This particular one was wobbling quite disconcertingly. Farden shimmied down a little further until his feet found the notches of a rough ladder.

  ‘Stop there, Farden!’ came Nuka’s order.

  ‘No,’ Farden replied, a little louder than perhaps he had intended. He stopped in his tracks as the crowd and crew about him bit their lips a little.

  Nuka’s head popped over the railing. Eyrum’s followed. As did half the crew’s. ‘Nobody disobeys me on my own ship, mage. Get back aboard.’

  ‘Too late now,’ replied Farden, cursing himself for being absolutely right.

  ‘You stubborn b…’ began Nuka, but he was interrupted by a familiar voice from behind him. It sounded like Tyrfing. Farden could barely hear over the splashing of the waves and the whales. ‘There’s no use arguing…’ he was saying. He was right.

  The orca had become curious now. A handful made one last pass beneath the ship, rocking her and making Farden’s hands shake, and then slowly, one by one, they began to gather beneath him. Their fins rose from the sea like sharp, black blades. Farden dared to look between his feet and saw one whale hugging the iron keel, staring up at him with a beady black eye marooned in a sea of white skin. It smiled with teeth not unlike those of the shark they had stewed not long ago. Farden’s heart was thumping, though he didn’t dare admit it. Not even to himself.

  ‘I’ll warn you not to get too close, Farden. They’re not called killer whales for no reason!’ ordered Nuka.

  ‘Be careful!’ came another cry, from somewhere in the crew.

  Farden couldn’t hel
p but stare back at the whale, almost mesmerised. He vaguely remembered a similar look passing between him and a wolf a long time ago, in the forest north of the Össfen Mountains, surrounded by snow and lazy sunlight. ‘They look harmless to me!’ he called up, trying to convince himself.

  Above him, Nuka clicked his fingers. ‘Roiks!’

  Somewhere behind him a foot stamped and a voice yelled, ‘Yessir!’

  ‘On the subject of whales, their habits and their behaviours, who would you pay more attention to? Your captain of nineteen years, former whaler, and all-round nautical authority, or a mage whose legs are as used to the sway of a deck as a pig is to perfume?’

  Roiks answered very quickly indeed. ‘It’d have to be the first one, sir. You.’

  ‘Right you are,’ said Nuka, giving Farden a lingering, sour look. ‘Did you hear that, mage? Do as you’re told.’

  Farden muttered something dark and not altogether compliant. He felt his old curiosity drawing him closer to the water and its sleek, piebald inhabitants. Much to the anger of the captain above him, he climbed further down’s the ship’s sheer flanks.

  The water slid by at a speed that got more and more frightening with every step. One of the whales slid close and blew a fountain of air and steam from a strange hole in his back. It soaked Farden to the skin. He didn’t dare spare a hand to wipe his face. He simply held tight, and wondered why he could taste fish.

  He vaguely heard the echoes of orders to bring in the sail. A few minutes of clinging later, he felt the Waveblade slow slightly. The orca could feel it too. Each of them swam a little closer to the ship, so tightly bunched and so numerous that Farden fancied he could step out and walk to the nearest chunk of ice without getting his feet wet. They swam on their sides so they could stare at the strange pale thing clinging to the side of the wooden, iron beast. Ponderously, they blew great plumes of water and breath. A few of the larger whales, elders as Farden had suspected, swam in circles around the main group.

  It was only when the ship came to a near halt that one of them came close to examine the mage. There was a deep rumble from under the water, then a high-pitched whine. The other whales quickly parted like grass in a storm, leaving room for the largest whale to rise up out of the water; a glistening mass of slippery black and white, sporting a fin that was easily as tall as Farden. Its beady eyes were a sharp blue, and there was a pink scar that ran across its blunt nose like a moustache. Deep in its throat it uttered a low and long drone that made Farden’s skin shiver. He turned around as far as he could and then, for some reason, as if it were some sort of king that had risen from the deep, he bowed his head. The whale did not move, save for the gentle sway of its fins. It didn’t even blink. Farden opened his mouth to speak.