With Blood Upon the Sand

by Bradley P. Beaulieu

  “You do that,” Sümeya replied. “Cool off with the evening wind.”

  In the gangway, Çeda passed one of the crew, who was taking a tray of food to the Maidens’ cabin.

  He cast his eyes down immediately when he saw Çeda wasn’t yet wearing her veil. “Would you care for food, Maiden?”

  Çeda ignored him and went topside, pulling the turban cloth around her head with practiced ease. She left the tail hanging down, though, refusing to cover her face. She reveled in the feel of the hot wind over her cheeks. Most of the crew was belowdecks, having their own meal before preparing to anchor for the night. She headed to the starboard side and leaned against the gunwales. Far in the distance, she could see them, dark forms bounding along the dunes like tireless hounds.

  She rubbed the wound on her thumb and tried to reach out to them, to communicate with them in some way. Who are you? What do you want? But the asirim were silent, their anger sated for the moment.

  Zaïde had warned her that she’d be fighting the poison and the pain in her wound for the rest of her life. She’d never mentioned fighting the asirim as well, but perhaps she hadn’t known. It made Çeda wonder if things would get worse. She was being taught how to control the asirim, but would the reverse be true? Would they learn how to control her?

  Just then, one of them wailed, a long, lonely call. On and on it went, sending a chill through Çeda that somehow deadened the pain in her hand. Soon it was hardly more than a distant ache. The pain had been with her for so long, her body so tight from it, she felt exhausted by its sudden absence.

  “It doesn’t forgive what you did,” she whispered to the dark forms.

  The wail ended, and silence fell over the desert once more. And then all Çeda heard were the runners sighing over the amber sands.

  Chapter 17

  EARLY THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Çeda felt unease brewing within the asirim. She went to Sümeya and told her of it.

  “Where?” Sümeya asked.

  And Çeda realized she knew. She aimed her finger.

  “Two points larboard!” Sümeya called over her shoulder.

  “Two points larboard!” echoed the pilot as he guided the ship around a sharp jutting stone in the sand.

  With that one command, the mood of the crew transformed. They set about making the small adjustments needed to catch the westerly wind. There was no doubt they’d run the ship smartly since leaving King’s Harbor, but now they hardly seemed different than the fore and aft ballistae they were loading with grapnel hooks, or the bows they hung on hooks along with quivers bristling with black arrows. The ship and its crew had always been a weapon, but now it was poised, ready to draw blood.

  “Be wary,” Sümeya said to both Çeda and Yndris. “They’ll try to break free, but you must hold their leashes tight.”

  They nodded, calling the asirim closer to the ship. The three dark forms bounded ahead over the smooth amber sands, eager for whatever lay along the horizon.

  From atop the vulture’s nest on the mainmast, the first mate called, “Ships ho! Dead ahead!”

  As the Javelin sailed hungrily on, sails appeared along the horizon. The captain studied them through his spyglass, calling out minor adjustments to their course. Kameyl and Melis came from belowdecks, the two of them buckling their sword belts. As they moved to the foredeck, Sümeya pulled Çeda aside amidships. “Are you sure you’re ready?”

  Çeda put her hand on the pommel of River’s Daughter. “I am.”

  Sümeya looked down at Çeda’s tattooed hand. “You’re in control of yourself?”

  “I am.”

  “And the asirim?”

  “Yes, First Warden.”

  Sümeya weighed her for a moment. “I’ll take them from you if necessary, but I’m loath to do so. The effects are unpleasant, for both you and the asirim.”

  Çeda nodded. “You can trust in me.”

  Apparently convinced, Sümeya brought Çeda back to the foredeck, where Kameyl stood by Yndris’s side. Melis had moved to the ballista near the bowsprit, where she was carefully coiling the rope attached to the grapnel.

  Along the horizon, wavering from the heat coming off the sand, Çeda could just make out a line of three ships. Yusam had told them to look for a plain of rock southwest of Sharakhai. Nothing more. But surely these ships were related to the King’s vision. Even if they weren’t, now that they’d been spotted, there was no way Sümeya would simply sail on. There was the occasional story of ships lost or blown horribly off course by a storm, but Çeda knew—as did everyone else onboard—that the ships they’d spotted were pirates. The royal navy were allowed to sail this part of the desert, but all others were forbidden deviations from the prescribed shipping lanes to Sharakhai. If they wished to sail on to another port, they would first need to pay a tariff on their goods. Anyone attempting to skirt those laws risked having their cargo taken, perhaps the loss of a hand for the ships’ captains as well. If it turned out they were smuggling goods forbidden by Kings’ law, however, the entire crew would be killed and the ships taken or burned.

  “You’ll keep the asirim from attacking until we’re ready,” Sümeya said to Çeda and Yndris. “Allow them to range ahead, near enough that there will be no mistaking the Kings’ will in the desert. The asirim will strain at their leashes, so you must be ready. When we near the ships and I give the word, allow them free rein. They’ll do the rest.”

  “Yes, First Warden,” Çeda and Yndris intoned.

  Çeda already felt the hunger, the excitement, from the pair of asirim she was bonded to. She could even feel it from Yndris’s, so murderous were its thoughts. She bid hers to run ahead of the ship, but to remain near. They obeyed, the nearest making a strange yipping sound as it bounded forward.

  The Javelin took an intercept course, the gap between the ships growing ever smaller. The skin along Çeda’s arms prickled. Excitement from the asirim now mingled with a strange sort of fear, a thing Çeda imagined a wolf might feel when baring its teeth at a newfound enemy.

  “A final word of warning,” Sümeya said while watching the three asirim dovetail ahead of the ship. “Never release them entirely. They’re difficult enough to control once their blood is up, but infinitely worse if you free them.”

  Yndris watched the way ahead hungrily. “And if by accident I do?”

  “Then be prepared to see everyone on those ships die. Let’s see that it doesn’t happen. Leave their captains alive if possible, their officers if not.”

  “Who are they?” Çeda asked.

  Sümeya shrugged. “We’ll find out soon enough.” She gave a signal to the captain, after which a crewman began ringing a large brass bell with a wooden mallet, a warning for the ships ahead to slow and submit to inspection. The ships were still distant—a league or more away—but Çeda saw they were turning now.

  “They’ve made their choice, captain!” the crewman above called. “They mean to flee.”

  “Aye,” the captain called back.

  All three ships curved north. The wind was with them, and they looked to be sleek ships, but they’d lost speed with their turn and were only now regaining it.

  “How do we know they’re not ships of the desert tribes?” Çeda asked.

  Sümeya, standing on the gunwales, balancing herself with the nearby shroud, glanced down. “It doesn’t matter. Run from the royal navy, and you’ll be taken down.”

  The ships were quick, but the Javelin was an impressive craft. It was sleek, well-balanced, built for speed. A ship made for war, not hauling cargo. Its runners—the most important parts of a sandship by far—gleamed under the sun. They were smooth and well maintained, protected by wax of the highest quality. The ships ahead stood no chance of outrunning them, and perhaps they realized it, for Çeda could see them gearing for battle—bows being readied, a catapult on the aft deck of the rearmost ship had just been lit afl
ame.

  “Enemy pots lit!” the crewman called from above.

  “Well-noted!” the pilot shouted back.

  As the Javelin approached, the pirates launched the catapult.

  “Flame away!”

  “Aye!” the captain called.

  A clay pot flamed into the sky, trailing black smoke.

  The Javelin heeled, groaning as the pot neared. It wasn’t going to be enough, Çeda could see. They’d aimed well. If it didn’t hit the deck, it would strike the side of the ship, which would force them to deal with it lest the ship be set ablaze.

  Melis stood near the bowsprit with a drawn bow, sighting along the length of a black arrow. As the pot reached its zenith and stormed toward the Javelin, Melis let fly. The arrow streaked toward the pot, a line of black on a field of blue. Melis shot a second arrow, then a third. The first two struck with sounds like stone chipping, and bits of red earthenware fluttered away from the pot, but the third crashed through the pot in spectacular fashion, the flames blossoming like an imperfect sun, spraying the sand to the port side of the ship. Some of it caught the port runner, but several of the crew converged there with buckets in hand, throwing blue sand that doused the flames in less time than it had taken for Melis to launch her arrows.

  The Javelin sailed now at the edge of bowshot. The asirim ran just ahead of the ship. They strained mightily at their leashes, but Çeda and Yndris held them in check. When Sümeya called, “Now!” Çeda did as she’d been told; she allowed her two asirim to bound ahead while making sure not to release them entirely.

  She immediately gripped her stomach, retching from the dark urges that roiled up inside her. In the days since she’d first bonded with them, their desires had been stifled every bit as much as their abilities to act on them. Now, though, their emotions were unsuppressed. They’d been given the freedom to act, and with it came deeper desires, ones that made Çeda tremble both inside and out. She could feel it churning in her gut like a feast of rotted meat. She wanted nothing more than to put the yokes back on the asirim if only to lessen it, but she wondered if she even could. This was nothing like days past. They were like forces of nature now, nigh uncontrollable.

  She looked over to Yndris, who was watching it all unfold with an expression that made it clear she’d been unprepared. She had her hand over her stomach as well, and then she was running to the gunwales, vomiting her morning meal over the side of the ship.

  The three asirim wailed. They flew over the desert like jackals, sand kicking up in tails behind them. The pirates loosed arrows. One struck the nearest asir, taking it in the midsection, but the asir merely broke the arrow with a swipe of its arm and leapt to catch the edge of the lead ship. A man charged forward, spear raised high, but before he could bring it to bear, the asirim howled in a way that rattled Çeda’s bones, even this far away. Sand billowed up behind the asir. It flew at the ship in a stream, flowing around the asir, over the ship, over its crew, blasting the men, the rigging, and the sails in an unending torrent. The plume it sent into the sky was like a fount of gold against an azure sea.

  The second asirim came just after, leaping up and over the aft gunwales to land behind the pilot. It grabbed the man’s arm and tore it free in a single, savage movement. A stippled arc of red followed the man down to the deck. Çeda lost sight of him then, but the asir was visible as it rose above the bulwarks and was lost from sight once more, its movements both rhythmic and animalistic. Dear gods, it was feeding on the pilot. She tried to pull the creature back, refusing to allow it to continue, for its own humanity as much as the pilot’s life, but the asir was too far gone. Its desire to slake its thirst on the blood of the living dwarfed Çeda’s ability to control it.

  The third asir, Yndris’s, galloped beyond the rear ship in the enemy’s line and approached the second. Instead of trying to reach the hull, it leapt upon the port-side ski. It stood upon the skimwood runner as the crewmen—men and women wearing flowing desert clothes—leaned over the gunwales and shot arrows or hurled pots of fire down at it. The asir took arrow after arrow, and a pot of oil burst just behind it on the wide runner. The oil splashed its legs, but it seemed oblivious to the pain. It focused all its attention on the ski’s thick support, its blackened, withered hands pressed to either side of it, as if it were trying to hold itself steady.

  Çeda had no idea what it was doing. More arrows sunk into its arms and its thighs. Surely it would fall to the flames if nothing else, but then she saw what was happening to the support. Bits of it were flaking away like ash from a windblown fire. It was only a small amount at first, but soon more and more of the wood fractured and was blown by the wind like autumn leaves in a storm.

  Çeda could hear the crew of the pirate ship yelling, rallying others to fight the asir. But before they could react, the wooden support split. The ship heeled sharply, the entire deck dipping sternward on the port side. Seconds later other support rent under the strain. A sound like thunder fell over the desert as the ship’s forward shoulder dove into the sand. Screams and shouts mingled with the rattle of rigging being shaken and torn, mere moments before a tremendous crash of wood and sand and stone drowned out all else. It was a surreal sight, the masts and white sails tipping sharply downward, the rigging whipping along with it. The entire ship seemed to explode in an amber cloud of sand and dust.

  The rearmost ship managed to steer wide of her fallen sister, but Çeda’s asir were wreaking havoc over the deck, men and women screaming as they tried to fight the holy defenders of Sharakhai.

  The Javelin steered wide as well, heading now toward the lead ship, a cutter with patchwork sails that was nevertheless swift. Even from this distance Çeda could see the look of fear on the pirates’ faces. She wondered what they’d been told. Surely they’d heard the stories, how deadly the asirim could be, how viciously they fought to protect the interests of the Kings. But perhaps they hadn’t believed it, or perhaps they thought the chances were small they’d be caught, or that the rewards far outweighed the risks.

  Whatever the case, they were surely praying to their gods for their lives—or at least a quick death. No one wanted to be taken in chains to Sharakhai, where they’d be subject to the attentions of the Maidens, or worse, the Confessor King.

  Ahead of the fleeing ship, a black swath ran across the desert. Stones marked the earth, forcing the cutter, and then the Javelin, to avoid them. They might have thought the Javelin unable to easily follow, but in this they had misjudged the skill of the Kings’ crew. The Javelin’s pilot seemed to navigate with ease. The enemy shot arrows, but they’d only managed two volleys before Melis cried, “Grapnel away!” and released the ballista she stood behind.

  The ballista’s swing arms snapped, thudding against the stanchions. The grapnel flew, the rope Melis had coiled so carefully unwinding with a soft buzzing sound. Then it snapped taut. The grapnel, arcing high over the enemy ship, shot downward, aft of the foremast and across the rigging lines.

  “Now!” Melis called.

  “Brace!” bellowed the captain.

  At the rear of the ship, a massive wooden beam was released. It fell backward on a hinge and crashed, the iron fork at its tail end biting into the sand, the foot-long teeth digging deep furrows and braking the ship. The Javelin’s deceleration caused the grapnel to pull on the pirate ship’s rigging. It caught the lower part of the mainsail, hauling two dozen of the ship’s lines with it. The smaller ones snapped. Others were pulled free of their stays. Most importantly, many held, slowing the ship right along with the Javelin.

  Soon both ships had come to a halt. Some few of the enemies’ crew leapt down from the tilted deck, ready to defend the ship, but just as many simply turned and fled.

  Sümeya whistled two sharp, rising notes, the signal to follow her, then jumped down to the sand. Çeda followed along with Yndris and Melis. Kameyl didn’t jump, but instead balanced herself and ran along the grapnel’s r
ope. So taut was the line, it carried her weight, hardly bending. In five long strides she was to the ship and flying through the air, ebon sword held in both hands as she thrust its tip through the mainsail’s canvas. It ripped beneath the sharpness of the blade, lowering Kameyl into the battle. She dropped to the deck, into the very center of the enemy, her body and blade a deadly blur. She drew much of the pirates’ attention as Çeda and the others approached.

  The rest of the Javelin’s crew had bows at the ready. They released two volleys before Sümeya and her Maidens neared the ship. Most of the pirate crew simply dropped their swords, fell to their knees, and raised their hands. Only two actually dared to raise weapons to the Maidens, and these men Sümeya and Kameyl felled with brutal efficiency. Melis watched the others warily. But Yndris ran toward the nearest, a boy her own age, perhaps seventeen. His eyes went wide and he held his hands up, shouting, “No, no, no!” in Malasani. Yndris didn’t listen. She was going to take him down as she’d taken the asir on the night of her vigil.

  Çeda sprinted between them, holding River’s Daughter out to stall Yndris’s charge. “He’s no danger to us.”

  Yndris rounded on her. “That’s the second time you’ve stood against me.” She tried to go after the boy again, but Çeda placed herself in Yndris’s path, sword at the ready. “He deserves no mercy,” Yndris shouted.

  “He may have information we need.”

  “Him?” Yndris laughed. “You’re a fool if you think so.”

  At a sharp whistle that meant, to me, Çeda and Yndris turned and saw Sümeya pointing to them.

  “Aiyah! Aiyah!” Melis called, swinging her ebon blade in a wide arc. The simple threat forced a dozen pirates to stop and drop to their knees for fear of being taken down by an ebon blade.

  As the navy crew from the Javelin approached, bows at the ready, Yndris and Çeda both complied with Sümeya’s order. Sümeya, with a glance toward the boy, guided Yndris away from the kneeling men and women, but before she went too far, she pointed Çeda toward those who’d fled toward the blasted black stone. “Go to them. Offer life to any who come willingly, or death in the desert to those who flee. And by the gods, call your asirim to heel.”