by Iain Lindsay
“Aye, only two guns on each side, but we’ve got Big Bertha up top, and she’s usually enough to scare any pirates away.” Tremaine saw where the youth’s eyes lingered.
“Pirates?” Talin said cautiously.
“So, down below is the hold, nothing for you to see there unless you like ballast, old rope, and a whole lot of nothing, do you?” Tremaine ignored his concerns. “Where you want to go right now, lad, and where I’m taking you is the Fo’c’sle. Or Forecastle. Got that?”
No, Talin thought.
“That’s my man,” Tremaine clapped him on the shoulder, his grip not entirely gentle as he turned him around and led him to the ladder up to the brighter airs of the main deck.
And stars.
Talin gasped. The Airship was suspended, it seemed, under a ceiling of more stars that the boy had ever seen before. They weren’t just the hard pinpricks of light that he might see at the end of his work shift on Breaker’s Reach. Up here they were brilliant, and crowded. The teenager saw huge drifts of celestial plumes like clouds, tinged and dusted with the faintest of blues, purples. It was absurd to say that the night was dark, given this display.
“Aye, she can be a beauty alright,” even the Captain’s voice was softer up here.
The Airship was a sleek vessel, the boy saw. Much smaller than some of the galleons or trading brigantines that ended their life at the Reach. Her front end was built up in a small quarterdeck atop the main top-deck, before she tapered into the fantastic point of the bowsprit, whilst her aft built up again into another quarterdeck, with the wheel atop that.
“Welcome to the Storm, human,” said the shadow that stood at the wheel, a young woman who didn’t look any older than the teenaged Tal was himself, but who wore a set of curving blades proudly on her hip. Her skin was as white as the stars above, and her albino hair flared behind her. She wore black and green leathers of a strange design: the leather over-laid like scales, or wrapped leaves, and she seemed daring the boy to remark upon her fey appearance.
She doesn’t look real, Tal opened and closed his mouth. Like a princess from a dream, who has more in common with the stars than she did with him. She also has a tail, Tal noticed. Which made her one of the tylaethi, a forest people of the far north-east of Ara, rarely seen, or so he had been told.
“Good evening, lady,” Tal bobbed his head seriously, causing a snicker of amusement from the Captain.
“We’ve never needed good manners before on the Storm, but there’s a first time for everything I guess. That’s my Navigator, Scout, and Master Rigger Lura.” Tremaine spun the youth around and propelled him towards the forecastle under the front quarterdeck. “Her kind are crazy and never sleep. So, she gets to mind the wheel at night.” The Captain hissed loudly into the boy’s ear.
“Oi! The tyl sleep, human – we just don’t spend half our lives at it like you dull-witted humans do.” She replied tartly.
“Get used to her insulting everyone. It’s like a tylaethi national pastime.” Another loud hiss, followed by the thump and swish of an angered tail as Tremaine cackled, pushing open the door to reveal a wide, curved room, filled with the smells of food.
“This is the young man, Sier?” Like him, the speaker had dark skin – but not the rich umber tones of the Nhkari, instead, the large, portly Izantine had skin like pale terracotta, and his dark hair was curly. An impressive moustache sat under a small nose, and a wide, white apron was strapped around the man’s large frame.
“It is.” Tremaine gestured for the youth to sit at the large wooden table that occupied the curved room, behind which was a heavy iron cook stove, with pots and pans hanging from the joists above. A bank of windows to the right and left walls on either side of the prow looked out into blackness, and at one of these sat the tremendous form of the Quartermaster, slowly winding and re-tying bits of rope. It was hard for Tal to take his eyes off the giant heimr, but the promise of food coming from Sevesti’s workbench was unavoidable.
“I am Sevesti Challa-Marseione, but these brutes call me Chef,” the man brushed the last of the bright green herbs atop the pot with a flourish, and set the large tureen on the table with a heavy thud. Next was brought forth wooden bowls and metal spoons, and a loaf of nutty-smelling bread. Talin saw that the Captain wait patiently for the chef to finish and sit down at the table himself, clearly obeying some unwritten etiquette amongst this strange crew, before beginning to ladle out the contents of the tureen into his, Sevesti’s, and the youth’s bowls in turn.
Food. Talin hadn’t realized how hungry he was until he already had a torn hunk of bread in his hand and was descending on the rich broth. It was syrupy and dark, smelling of rosemary and curry spices. In it floated soft orange and green hunks of vegetables, soft grains, as well as dark bits of meat that was stringy, but not tough. Talin had never tasted the like of it.
“You perform miracles, as ever, Chef,” the Captain said.
“Ha! It would be better if I had more than just gulls to work with.” Sevesti tore at the bread.
Talin’s spoon paused. “Gulls?” His look caused a round of laughter from the Captain and, under the window, the troll.
“You see, the boy has taste – unlike you heathens,” the Chef agreed, “do not worry young Sier, I can promise you better fare when we hit water again.”
“And when is that ever going to happen?” the heimr looked up from his ropework, casting an eye out of the window. From where he sat, Talin could see a ribbon of silver curling away through the dark land below them, but no sea.
“We’ll hit Marduk in a day or two with this wind,” the Captain said over his dinner.
Marduk. Tal had heard of it. A trading city to the east of Breaker’s Reach, a lot of the Airshipper’s who came through the Reach were either heading to or had come from there.
“Marduk?” The heimr looked, if anything, unimpressed. “And you will be planning to see that Madame Rathine again, will you?”
“Lady Rathine,” Tremaine shot his Quartermaster a brief scowl, before clearing his throat. “I’m sure the lad doesn’t want to hear about all of that. So. What are we to call you, lad?”
The youth found all eyes turned on him. “Tal.”
“That’s not what your mother called you back there.” The Quartermaster said. He had been the one to drag me off the Reach, Talin thought. Where she must have fallen. “Nor what that Reacher called you. You may call me; the Quartermaster Gulbrand, of the Craggock Heimr Clan.”
Tal Nhka. That was my name to the Reacher’s. Not my name to my mother, either.
“Leave him alone, Gulbrand,” Tremaine scowled again. “So he has secrets, which of us doesn’t?”
“It is honorable amongst my people to share names if you saved a life, so their clans can remember the deed…” the heimr grunted.
“My mother called me Cumu, but my name is Talin, of the Nhkari.” The youth glared back. “But you may call me Tal.”
“Cumu?” Sevesti broke into a laugh. “Well named! I know a little Nhkari – it means thunder, doesn’t it?”
“ ‘Thunder’” Tremaine’s eyes narrowed for a moment, before a wry smile crooked his mouth. “Thunder and Storm, hey? How’s that for a sign?”
“A sign that we’ll never moor at Breaker’s Reach again,” Gulbrand said again, but before Tal could figure how angry he was, the heimr broke into a grin that was wide and full of fangs. “Not that I mind. The Reacher’s are slavers, and the heimr have never had any love of slavers. Well met, Cumu, Talin, of the Nhkari.”
Phew. Talin breathed a sigh of relief.
“That’s settled then. The only other member of the crew you haven’t met yet is Odestin, now my First Mate.” The Captain sopped up his bowl. “Now, we need to decide what to do with you, Tal of the Nhkari.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Storm doesn’t carry passengers I’m afraid, she’s a trading vessel,” Beside the Captain, Sevesti coughed loudly into his hands, earning another frown, “and I don’
t suppose you’ve ever worked an Airship before…”
“I’ve climbed enough.” Tal interjected. “Clippers and Galleons, Schooners and Carracks.”
“I suppose you must have,” Tremaine tapped his angular chin. “Well, until we get to Marduk at least, you can be a Hand to Lura on the rigging then. Heaven knows we need one now that our air fan is still barely operational. We’ll mostly be flying by topsails alone...”
“I can dismantle them,” Talin pointed out. He remembered his mother’s insistence that he leave the Reach. That he start a life somewhere else. “I know how they put the fans together.”
“Really? You’re full of surprises tonight, young master Cumu,” the Captain shared a look with Gulbrand, which was returned with a shrug.
“Fine. You’re a hand to the Master Rigger, but you’ll also help First Mate Odestin with the repairs. The Quartermaster here,” Tremaine indicated Gulbrand. “Is god. He calls all the day-to-day shots beside me. Other than that, you’re the lowest-ranking member on my boat, so you’ll only get a half-share of the silks we’re taking to Marduk. Which I warn you, is already next to nothing thanks to that dock master of yours.”
“Overseer.” Tal said with hate curling his lip. “His name was Overseer Jekkers, and I hope that my mother killed him.”
Silence settled over the table for a moment, before the Captain sighed. “She saved your life for something, young man: A future. I hope that you choose wisely what you will do with that gift when we get to Marduk.”
Tal’s hate dissolved into angered confusion. “But, what happens after Marduk?” Where do I go?
“That’s up to you, Tal.” The Captain’s tone was serious. “You’re old enough. You’ll probably have enough coin for a few night’s lodgings. There’ll be plenty of work in Marduk for a fit and able lad like yourself, or to the north will be the Susha, and there are caravans that always need teams to cross it. You might find word of your family out there on the Plains…”
He won’t take me on because I’m Nhkari, Talin’s glance thundered. Bad-luck. Dark-skinned. Ill-omened. Lazy. All the other things that they say about us.
“Captain,” Sevesti’s tone was one of rebuke. “Everyone in the south knows the Nhkari were almost wiped out. Driven from their lands by the Protectorate.”
“Are you suggesting we offer every stranger we meet a job, Chef?” Tremaine said in exasperation. Talin could sense there was something unspoken going on between them.
“Quartermaster?” Tremaine asked the heimr, but Gulbrand remained stony-faced.
“It’s okay,” Tal said with tightness in his voice. I’m not about to barter for my life. He had thought that it would be different outside of the Reach. That the hate for his people would just be a habit that belonged to stupid youths who didn’t know any better. But I was wrong. Maybe they just find other ways to hide their prejudice, out here. Tal thought about the strange gold disk snugged against his belt. It was worth a lot of coin, not that he wanted to sell it – but he wouldn’t be without options. The Captain had been right about one thing; he was a man by Nhkari standards, and these were the decisions he had to make. Tal stood up, forcing himself to hold his head high. “Thank you for saving my life, and thank you for the food. I’ll work, and I’ll work hard, Captain Tremaine.”
“I’m sure you will,” the Captain said in a guarded tone. “You should get some rest, sun’ll be up sooner than you like, and the work aboard an Airship can be as hard as any work you’ve done at Breaker’s Reach.”
“Aye, Captain,” Tal said, his eyes suddenly feeling heavy after the food. He shared a nod with the Chef and the Quartermaster, before wobbling back through the Forecastle door to find his bunk.
“Captain, for shame! Did you have to be so mean to him?” Sevesti said sorrowfully as he collected the bowls after the boy had gone. The boat rocked gently under the strong headwind, but the large man moved with the bowling grace of one who was well-used to ship travel.
“Mean? In what way was I being mean?” Jos Tremaine raised his hands. “I freed a bound slave, and offered him temporary employment on my crew. How is that being mean?”
“Telling him that he should leave at Marduk. That place is a pit of vipers, as well you know.” Sevesti scolded him. “And he clearly has never set foot outside the Reach before…”
“He’s what, fourteen? Fifteen? He can handle himself, I’m sure. He’ll have better chance of making it out there than many…” Tremaine countered stubbornly.
“But he lost his family and friends, before his very eyes, and then to be thrown to the streets of the most disreputable city in the World Islands?” Sevesti clucked his teeth as he started plunging the pots into the tepid water cauldron and scrubbing them furiously.
“We can’t afford sympathy, Chef. We’re pirates. How do we know what kind of man he will turn out to be? Will he get us caught? Will his guts freeze with terror when he’s faced with a fight? Will he be able to work the rigging in full storm winds?” Tremaine almost shouted. “Quartermaster, tell me – do you think that lad can face a fully-armed Protectorate guard and win? Do you think he can lie through his teeth to charm a boarding pass from someone?”
The heimr shrugged. “He grew up as a slave on the Reach. I’m sure he’s no shrinking buttercup.”
“But what of the risks we’re all running?” Tremaine insisted as he banged the table. “I know that everyone here has their reason for taking that risk, but him? If we get caught, then it could be the rest of our lives as Protectorate thralls, or execution, or having some bit or other of our bodies chopped off.” The Captain’s brows were heavy over his bright eyes. “You accuse me of being mean, Sevesti – but I’ve already lost one crew member this moon, and maybe I’m doing him a kindness, saving him from that fate.”
“Maybe you should let him decide what he wants for his future,” Sevesti said lightly, before dropping another pot into the water with a loud splash.
10. A Man Remade
In a darkened room far from the stars and airs that hung over the Susha, another figure was clawing his way to a new life.
Overseer Jekkers hurt. He hurt in so many ways that it was hard for him to remember which bit was which. That woman had attacked him, again and again, catching him on the horns of the windscraper as if he were a pig for slaughter and then, when her strength had seemingly failed her, she had fallen on him to scratch and claw and bite, hissing the words: ‘Remember me. Remember this. Remember the wrath of the Nhkari!’ it had been too much, and the Overseer’s shrieks had turned into pained sobs, and eventual unconsciousness.
But now, he was awake – or nearly so. Am I dead? He thought in horror. Are these the Halls of Reckoning?
He was certainly in a stone vault, with the sound of water dripping somewhere. Strange, he had never thought of the Halls of Reckoning – that place between the worlds where the gods of the World Islands judged the souls of the dead – as being damp.
Jekkers trembled in fear. He knew that he had led a bad life. A very bad life. There would be no heavens for him, just the unending descent into the Abyss at the bottom of the world…
A shape moved in the gloom. “Overseer Jekkers” a voice said. It was a deep, echoing sort of voice, and one that he thought sounded strangely familiar. Was it true what some claimed, that a dead relative greets you after you have passed over?
The cruel old man opened his eyes to see that the figure before him was certainly no relative of his at all.
It was a Lord of the Reach. A Breaker, half-illuminated by the metal lantern that it held in one hand, the yellow glow showing the folds of long ceremonial robes, the pale hands that ended in claws, and the mass of writhing tentacles that constantly moved on the thing’s face, tasting the air.
“I’m not dead?” Jekkers gasped, the words hurting him as he said them.
“You still have a purpose.” The Breaker set the lantern on the ground beside where the man lay (he saw now that it was a stone plinth, in the middle of a rocky cav
ern), and bent over to press the grey flesh of his hand over Jekkers skull.
“What are you doing, Master…?” The Overseer had a moment to say, before the pain of his wounds rang sharp in his mind like needles.
“Aiiiii!” Jekkers screamed for a long time, but when the scream was done, he found, strangely, that the pain was gone as well. In its place there was a numbness and a roar in his ears, like the sound of the sea.
“Where is this?” The Breaker held up a leather-bound book in one hand, opened to reveal a diagram of a circle, crisscrossed with curving geometric lines. On the facing page sat a strange, angular script that the Overseer couldn’t read.
“I don’t know…” Jekkers was confused, before he recognized the object. It wasn’t a symbol or a picture, it was a drawing of the medallion that the thief Nhka had taken from the Iron Judge’s brigantine. “That boy. The Nhka one. The one who started the riot – he stole it from me!” Jekkers whispered quickly.
“He stole it from us” The Breaker corrected, and the Overseer knew that he was not talking about the ‘us’ of Breaker’s Reach, but the ‘us’ of the Lords only. “It must be found. It must be returned.” The Overseer said simply, closing the book with a snap, and removing his hand from the human’s forehead.
Jekkers winced, expecting the aches of his wounded body to return – but they did not. Instead, all that remained was the sigh and roar of the sea in his veins.
“You want me to fetch it, Master?” Jekkers said, confused.
“That is your purpose.” The Breaker intoned, taking a step back to let more of the light fall on the plinth, and the Overseer’s body.
Jekkers saw that he still wore the same torn and blood-splattered canvas clothes that he had been in at the time of the attack, but something had happened to his skin. He sat up (not feeling any pain) and held his hands before him. His skin was no longer old and emaciated, instead, it was flushed with healthy and strong tissue – and it was grey, with a hint of turquoise. It looked odd in the lantern light, almost like the skin of the Breakers themselves; reminiscent of some strange deep-sea life not meant for the dry airs of the surface world. Thick, unhealthy-looking lines of dark arteries traced their way under the skin, spreading. But the new flesh hadn’t taken over his entire body yet, his palms were still pink and his own.