“I never assumed to understand the mind of any of the seven sea gods. Their choice in bestowing their gifts has never been fathomable.” In Pinorr’s arms, Sheeshon seemed to calm with his voice and touch. Her flow of words died down to a trickle, and her rocking stopped.
“What makes you think she’s touched by the sight?”
“You have seen her carving.”
Mader Geel’s face darkened. “She is skilled, I’ll grant you that,” she answered with clear reluctance. “But many of the mad, even those who eventually have to be walked into the sea, are often possessed by a specific talent. I once knew an addled fellow who was so skilled in the working of sails that he could walk a ship’s ropes without using his hands, even in a fierce gale, as if he were strolling across a wide steady deck.” She finally waved her hand to dismiss these accomplishments. “But beyond these single skills, these folk were still broken. You look too closely at Sheeshon’s one talent and call her touched by the gods.”
“But it is not only her skill with scrimshaw,” he persisted. For a reason he could not name, he needed someone else to understand his growing realization. “Until this morn, I myself never suspected her skill was tied to the rajor maga. But now I know!”
Mader Geel scooted Ami toward some playthings piled in the corner. Most were bone figures carved by Sheeshon when she was younger. Ami sat down and picked up a tiny scrimshaw piece carved into the likeness of a handsome girl. For some reason, Sheeshon had insisted on painting the doll’s hands with red dyes.
With Ami settled, Mader Geel approached the bed. She sat on the far side of Sheeshon. “I know you fear for her, Pinorr . . .”
Mader Geel’s attempt at sympathy only goaded him further. “We should all fear for her,” he spat out. “A danger approaches the fleet. It rides a storm that will strike this night. And I believe Sheeshon is the key to understanding it.”
“What do you mean?”
“Have you ever suspected falseness in my visions?” he asked.
She pulled back a bit. “Never! Do not forget I served with Ulster’s father, the high keel. I know how your sea senses saved many a battle.”
“Then know this, Mader. Sheeshon carved the dragon and babbled to me about a threat that approaches, something about dragons and doom.”
“Just a child’s fancies,” the old woman insisted, but doubt now flecked her words.
“So I supposed as well. I had already sensed a great southern squall aiming our way and was impatient of her ramblings. But after I argued with Ulster, I again checked the seas. I sensed something new in the breezes.” He paused and pulled Sheeshon up into his arms. The child seemed to be coming out of her trance. Her eyes tracked around her tiny room, a thumb planted in her mouth. She leaned into Pinorr, needing warmth and reassurance.
“What?” Mader Geel finally asked. “What did you sense?”
“I scented dragons in the air.”
Horror washed across her features. “Perhaps you were influenced by Sheeshon’s words more than you had first suspected.”
Pinorr stared over Sheeshon’s head. “So you do doubt my abilities.”
Mader Geel remained silent. The war inside her played across her face. She did not want to believe his words but could not dismiss the accuracy of his rajor maga. “Are you sure?” she finally whispered.
He simply nodded. “Sheeshon saw it first, then I. The mer’ai come for us.”
“Our ancient slave masters,” Mader Geel mumbled. For as long as Pinorr had known the hard woman, she had never shown a weak heart, even in fierce battle when the odds were severely against them. But fear now glinted brightly from her eyes.
Ami spoke up from where she played in the corner. She never looked up from her game, her voice plain. “Sheeshie says we’re all going to die.”
Mader Geel and Pinorr glanced to the girl, then back at each other.
“Sheeshon is the key,” Pinorr said and pulled his granddaughter closer. “Locked in her head is the knowledge to free us from our doom.”
A loud booming rattled the door to Pinorr’s set of rooms. Both Pinorr and Mader Geel jumped. Ami looked up from her play, and Sheeshon merely moaned. “They’re coming,” Sheeshon mumbled into Pinorr’s chest.
“Open the door!” a voice ordered from beyond the latch. “By order of the keelchief, the child Sheeshon must answer for her attack upon a member of the crew.”
Pinorr passed Sheeshon to Mader Geel. “She must not be harmed,” he hissed at her. “Do you understand this? Not just for the sake of my heart, but for the fate of the Dre’rendi.”
Mader Geel stared at him for a full breath, then slowly nodded. “I believe you.”
The knocking resumed, less booming, more nervous. Pinorr knew the guards would not dare burst through, not even if the way was unlatched. The fear of a shaman’s wrath would keep them at bay for a bit longer.
Pinorr turned to Mader Geel. “Then you know what we must do.”
“We fight.”
Even with fear in his heart, he smiled at the fire in the old woman’s words, two gray-haired elders ready to take on a ship of warriors. “Ulster thinks his youth and strength make him strong. We will teach him that only the passing of winters forges a true warrior.” He pointed to his forehead. “The true weapons of victory are wits, not swords.”
Mader Geel nodded. “I always said you were wise.”
Pinorr bustled across the room, gathering the items Sheeshon would need. “When did you ever admit that?”
Mader Geel’s eyes sparked with amusement. “Well, never to your face. A shaman’s nose should not rise too high above the horizon.”
He stared daggers at her.
“Oh, enough of this false humility, Pinorr. You always were headstrong and insistent on your views. Even Ulster’s father often wondered who truly led the fleet.”
“Be that as it may, we must hurry.”
The pounding resumed more boldly. “Do not make us break down your door, Shaman!” a new voice bellowed. It was Ulster. The keelchief must have grown impatient with his lackeys’ cowardice. “Your son’s daughter is not above the law. She has passed ten winters and is answerable for her actions. So open this door—now!”
Pinorr knew Ulster’s speech was more for the benefit of the guards than for Pinorr. Once again, Ulster tried to hide behind the letter of the law to justify his cruelties. Everyone knew Sheeshon was far from ten winters of age in judgment, and Ulster’s attack was not to mete justice but to hurt Pinorr. Yet wrong or not, the keelchief could not be disobeyed.
Shaking his head, Pinorr turned to Mader Geel, who had already gathered Sheeshon and Ami to her side. He crossed and hurriedly whispered his plans to the old woman. Once finished, he stood back and passed over the items he had gathered from Sheeshon’s room. “Can you handle your end?”
Mader Geel nodded, a hard smile on her lips. “I’ll watch over the girl. No harm will come to her.”
Pinorr crossed to the door. “Then let the battle begin.”
BREATHLESS, SY-WEN PUSHED into the room first. Master Edyll followed, assisted by Kast. Once everyone was inside, Sy-wen sealed the door.
“What is this place?” Kast asked warily, eying the cramped, unadorned room.
Sy-wen turned to the Bloodrider. “We’re in a pod on the underside of the leviathan.” She pointed to the room’s only feature: a deep well in the floor. Ocean water could be seen bubbling a short way down the mouth of the narrow hole. “We call this an obligatum,” she said, knowing the word meant nothing to Kast.
When the two had first come aboard the giant leviathan, the great seabeast had already surfaced, allowing Ragnar’k simply to alight on its wide back. Sy-wen had then hopped from the dragon’s neck, breaking physical contact and returning Kast to his present form. From there, mer’ai guards had merely led them down into the leviathan’s interior.
But to leave now in secret would not be that easy.
“An ob-obligatum?” Kast glanced down the well.
Nodding, Sy-wen explained. “It’s the way the mer’ai enter or leave a submerged leviathan. Also through this well, a dragon in the sea can extend its long neck and sip from a leviathan’s air without having to surface.” Sy-wen studied the level of water in the throat of the well. “Luck is with us. The leviathan does not swim too deeply today.” She turned to Kast. “If it dives too far, the rising weight of the sea squeezes water up through the obligatum’s throat and fills the chamber. It would block our escape.”
Master Edyll chuckled. “It wasn’t just luck, my dear.”
“What do you mean, Uncle?”
“When I heard you’d requested an audience with the council, I guessed your plans and ordered the leviathan to keep to the shallows this day.”
Sy-wen frowned. “When Mother finds out, she’s going to know you played a hand in our escape.”
“She will only suspect, but without proof . . .” Master Edyll shrugged. “You see . . . my poor old ears were being bothered. I just needed a short rest from the pressures, so I ordered the leviathan to shallower depths.”
“Ah, I see,” Sy-wen said, grinning at his fabricated alibi.
“Now out with the two of you.” Master Edyll unhooked an egg-shaped gourd that hung on the wall from a trailing stalk and handed it to Kast.
The Bloodrider accepted the offered apparatus and studied it, turning and fingering its stalk. “What is it?”
“An air pod,” Master Edyll said. “You’ll need it to breathe underwater. I think Sy-wen can hold her breath long enough.” He glanced significantly at his niece.
“Long enough for what?”
Sy-wen nodded toward the hole. “Master Edyll is right. I can’t call Ragnar’k forth in here. The large dragon won’t be able to squeeze out this tiny hole. We’re going to have to leave on our own and call forth the dragon while under the sea.”
Kast’s eyes grew wide, but he didn’t say a word. Sy-wen could see him fight to maintain his stoic self, even when faced with losing himself to the dragon again. Her heart ached for him.
Even Master Edyll seemed to notice his flaring tension. “I should be going. The council will wonder where I’m at if I delay much longer.”
Sy-wen slid around the well and gave her uncle a tight hug. “Thank you,” she said in his ear.
He returned her embrace. “May the tides carry you safely,” he whispered. It was an old mer’ai farewell.
They broke their embrace. Master Edyll said his good-byes to Kast and left, sealing the door behind him.
Now alone, the two grew quickly awkward. There was too much to say, too much to admit. To Sy-wen, it was as if the leviathan now swam a thousand leagues under the sea. The very air seemed thick and hard to breathe.
She stared at Kast but could not meet his eye. He too avoided looking directly at her. “We should go,” he finally said, his voice no more than a croak.
She nodded. “I’ll go first and wait for you just outside the leviathan.” She moved closer to him and silently showed him how to break the tip of the air pod’s stem and suck fresh breaths through it. Standing close to him, she waved a hand over his body. “When I’m gone, you should strip out of your shirt and leggings.”
He nodded. When the dragon burst free, anything he wore was simply shredded. “You should be going,” he said.
Just as Sy-wen reached to hug him farewell, Kast stepped back, pulling his billowy shirt from his hard shoulders. She froze in midreach. He also stopped, his shirt half off, both immediately awkward. Even though Sy-wen had seen Kast naked before, she had never touched him unclothed.
She cast her eyes down and turned away. “I . . . I will wait for you just outside the leviathan.”
“I . . . I’ll be . . . right there.”
She stood at the well’s lip, feeling the fool. She could not get herself to move. Seeming to sense her hesitation, strong arms suddenly circled her from behind. She tensed in the embrace for a single gasped breath, then melted back into the heat of his body. His lips brushed the tender hollow on the side of her neck. Neither spoke. Sy-wen dared not even turn around. They said their farewells with touches and soft noises.
At last, his arms withdrew, his fingers trailing down her bare arm as he stepped away.
She trembled as cool air traced over her flushed skin.
Without looking back, she dove smoothly into the sea, the cold water washing away the tears that had begun to well.
Once free of the leviathan, she arced under its belly and twisted around to face the opening. Sy-wen’s inner lids had already snapped up, so she could see clearly through the crystal waters. As she waited, she fingered the spot where the Bloodrider’s lips had touched her. Even in the chill of the sea, her blood warmed with the memory. She had no name for the flurry of emotions that stormed through her heart.
Sy-wen dropped her hand from her neck and kicked closer to the opening in the underside of the leviathan. She must not let her heart interfere with her duty. Kast was their forefather reborn. According to her uncle, the fate of her people rested upon Kast’s shoulders. Kicking and paddling, she kept near the obligatum. It seemed forever until an explosion of bubbles marked where Kast crashed out of the leviathan’s belly.
She kicked nearer. He was all flailing limbs and twisting body as he tried to orient himself. Once close enough, she realized he was blind in the water. He did not have the extra lids to keep the sting and blur of salt from his eyes. She could imagine his panic at being thrust into this cold, blind world, depending only on her for his survival.
She grabbed his hand, and his thrashings instantly calmed. He did not even grab for her but let her come to him, trusting her skill. With his chest bare and his manhood covered only by thin linen underclothes, she found it hard to look at him. The sight of his strong legs and chest made it difficult to keep her breath trapped.
She swam in front of him and drew him closer, keeping her eyes fixed on his face. She had to wrap her legs around his waist a bit to keep them both steady.
She touched his chin and turned his face to expose the dragon tattoo on his neck and cheek. He tensed under her, knowing what was to come. The emblem of Ragnar’k, a coiled black dragon with savage red eyes, stared back at her. She could almost feel the imprisoned beast urging her to release it.
Readying herself, she let go of Kast’s chin. His face swung back to her, but his eyes were blinded by the salty water. A hand groped up and touched her own cheek, a signal that he was ready.
She reached for him, but not to his tattoo. She slipped the stem of the airpod from his lips. He did not resist, still trusting her.
She cast aside the pod and pulled him to her, pressing her lips to his. He startled a bit under her touch, then pulled her hard against him, their arms wrapping hungrily around each other. Through tight lips, they shared each other’s breaths.
Time stretched toward eternity—but where hearts made promises that lasted forever, her air could not last that long. Before she could drown, her fingers reluctantly reached to his tattoo.
Good-bye, Kast, she sent silently to him. And for the first time, she allowed herself to add what her heart had known all along. I love you.
With her touch, the sea vanished in a rush of scale and wing. A roar filled her ears and mind as the dragon inside Kast broke free. Before the waters could clear, Sy-wen found herself seated atop the back of the monstrous creature, its wings like sails to either side, its neck stretched far into the blue sea.
Ragnar’k turned to face his rider. Ruby eyes glowed toward her; a hint of silver fangs glinted in the refracted light. Sy-wen, the dragon whispered to her, a throaty purr. My bonded. The beast’s exhilaration at its freedom rolled over her, overwhelmed her; but under its thrill, she also sensed its hunger, a dark well that seemed bottomless.
Sy-wen brushed her fingers along Ragnar’k’s thick neck, scratching under the hard scale to the tender flesh underneath. Feed, she sent to her mount, we’ve still a long way to travel.
Reaching forward
, she slipped free the tiny siphon that let her share the dragon’s air. She drew a breath, driving away the tiny sparks that had started to build from lack of air. It felt good to breathe again. But in her chest, an ache still remained. No amount of fresh air could dissolve away the sense of loss in her heart.
The dragon also freshened its own air by returning briefly to sip from one of the leviathan’s obligatums. Once refreshed and its lungs full, the dragon twisted away and began its hunt.
Sy-wen settled closer to the dragon. Where in this great beast was Kast? With her thighs, she could feel the beat of the dragon’s thundering heart. She let herself imagine that it was the Bloodrider’s own heart. She leaned nearer, placing a hand over a thrumming vessel in the dragon’s neck. She let her eyelids drift partway down as the dragon flew through the water, snatching yellowfin and angelwhites down its long gullet. The pleasure of its feasting blurred with her own memory of lips on skin.
They glided above reefs like distant mountain ranges. In the distance, she saw other seadragons darting like falling jewels through the blue waters. Fading behind now, she saw the massive bulk of the leviathan drifting away, an enormous mountain rolling through the sea.
She closed her eyes and just drifted in a haze of sorrow and pleasure until Ragnar’k intruded on her thoughts. Belly full. Where now?
Sitting straighter, she slipped her feet into the folds at the base of the dragon’s neck. Up, she sent to him, up and away.
A trumpet of excitement coursed through dragon and rider.
After tightening his neck fold to cinch snug her ankles, Ragnar’k swept his wings wide and dove deeper, then spun in a tight arc to gain momentum, coiling in on himself. Sy-wen had to lean against the pull of the water, her fingers latched to a scaled ridge of bone. Just before she thought she would be thrown free of Ragnar’k, the dragon’s long tail snapped like a plucked bowstring. Ragnar’k sprang upward, his wings sweeping even with his body as he shot toward the distant light.
Sy-wen closed her eyes and held tight to the dragon’s back.
She felt the rush as Ragnar’k burst from the waves. Seawater cascaded over her, trying to drag her back into the ocean, but the dragon kept her feet clamped in his neck folds. She clung by hand and nail.
Wit'ch War (v5) Page 30