The Storm Witch

by Violette Malan

  Darlara motioned with her eyes to the left, toward the forward deck. *She’s on upper deck, he’s in my cabin*

  Malfin lowered himself to the pilot’s bench next to her. *Best think of it as their cabin* he said.

  Darlara nodded, her eyes suddenly spreading wide open. *See their practice this morning* she asked.

  Malfin shrugged, resting his elbows on his knees and leaning forward enough to look around his sister to the forward deck. He could just make out the spot of dark red that was Dhulyn Wolfshead’s hair.

  *Seen fighters practice*

  *Not like this, and those that did won’t be forgetting it soon*

  *Was it so strange then* Without straightening, Mal turned to look at her.

  *Mal, it was fast* Darlara leaned against his shoulder, and Malfin felt a tickle of cold run down his spine as her feelings transferred to him. *Went at each other like were crazed, on the main deck, up and down the rigging and ladders—once she ran balancing on the rail and he doing his best to knock her off* *They were all the time smiling, never a foot put wrong—so fast couldn’t always see the blades moving—any minute expected blood to fly* Dar put her hand on his arm. *And, Mal, kept it up until the sun was a span over the edge of the sea, and when finished, were dripping sweat, but breathing easy like sitting in a chair*

  Malfin’s eyes narrowed. *Could hold their breaths long, you think*

  *They’re landsters, when all’s said, but oh, Mal, if you’d seen*

  Mal considered his sister’s thoughts carefully, but there was none of that glow he’d sometimes felt when there was a new man she was interested in. Not that he would have been surprised. Both the Mercenaries were tall even for landsters, and Dar liked them tall. And their coloring was unusual enough to make them exotic to the Nomads. Lionsmane was brown and gold all over, like the animal he was named for, and Wolfshead was pale as a deep-sea pearl, and looked like she’d be just as cool to the touch—except for her hair, red like old blood.

  No, what he saw now in Darlara’s thoughts wasn’t lust, but something closer to awe.

  *Guess I missed something then*

  *There was only the night watch on deck, your turn tomorrow*

  *I can’t wait—look*

  Darlara sat up and turned to look forward. Parno Lionsmane had come out of the cabin carrying what were clearly pipes in his hands. Dhulyn Wolfshead moved from where she had been sitting, coming halfway down the ladder leading to the forward deck, and speaking to her Partner as she came. He answered, she nodded, sitting down where she was on one of the rungs, and went back to reading her book. Dar looked at her brother and lifted her shoulders in query. He frowned and pointed forward again. Dar looked back, and this time she saw what Mal was drawing to her attention. One or two of the crew were circling, closing in on Parno Lionsmane from other parts of the ship, Goann from the forward hatch, Mikel from the galley underneath where he and Dar were sitting, and what looked like Conford, the new exchange, from one of the cabins amidship. All were keeping Pod silence, so you had to be watching to see anything. There wouldn’t be much to notice if you were down on the main deck, but from up here it was obvious.

  *Trouble* he said to his sister.

  *Mercenary Brother has nothing to worry about* she said.

  *Not even three against one* Mal got to his feet and headed for the ladder. *Practice against each other is one thing, a fight with Nomads is another*

  But he moved with casual deliberation. Strangers were rare aboard a Nomad ship, the crew would have been unsettled in any case, and the circumstances bringing these particular strangers made things even worse. The crew was itching for a confrontation, and the Mercenaries made as good an excuse as any. And since there was bound to be an incident, better it happened now, under his eye, and not later, perhaps when neither he nor Darlara was by.

  And he had to admit he was curious. He’d seen a bit of Lionsmane’s speed in the Catseye, but so had some of the crew, and now they’d be prepared.

  Lionsmane had taken his pipes to the narrow bench, little more than a shelf, that ran along the ship’s side under the main deck’s rail. The instrument’s air bag was partially filled, and he was looking down, attaching first the chanter and then the drones. Chanter. That was part of his name, and now Malfin figured he knew why. So if the Wolfshead was called Scholar . . .

  Lionsmane took the chanter in his fingers and began the opening notes of a slow dance tune, his elbow squeezing out a rhythm through the drones.

  “Hey, pipe-boy, do you dance nice like you play?” That was Conford’s voice, heavy with anger, and Mal began to walk faster. Con had only recently come to Wavetreader from a Round Ocean ship. And voluntary though an exchange always was, Conford’s had been particularly hard. Everything and everyone here was strange to him, and it would take him time to feel that he had a good wind and a fair current. In his mid-twenties, Conford was small and thick-muscled like most Nomads, his grin, seldom seen, showing a space where he was missing a tooth. He wore a garwon at his belt—which he had every right to—but was beckoning Parno forward with empty hands.

  “Come on, then, show us how well you dance.”

  Lionsmane didn’t even open his eyes, but went on playing. Malfin circled around to ship’s starboard, until he was standing to the left of Dhulyn Wolfshead where she sat on the ladder, reading.

  “Come on, pipe-boy. Or you gonna get your lady friend to fight for you?”

  Other crew were beginning to gather, some elbowing each other, grinning. Josel looked up from the lesson he was chalking on the deck boards and shepherded the children toward the aft hatch, shaking his head as he went.

  The Mercenary broke off in mid-note, the drones groaning as he released the air bag. He ignored Conford and looked toward his Partner.

  “Dhulyn?”

  “You go ahead.” The Mercenary woman shrugged one shoulder without lifting her eyes from her book. “I did the last one,” she added.

  She’s Senior, Mal remembered, moving forward until he was next to and below her. Lionsmane won’t act without her nod.

  “Are you sure? He seems to think you beat me this morning.”

  “I did beat you, and look again. That man’s not one of the crew who watched us this morning. I think his friends are playing a trick on him.”

  “I like tricks.”

  “Well, watch out for your pipes. They won’t be easy to replace out here.” And she’d still never lifted her eyes from her reading.

  Mal was close enough to her to speak without raising his voice. “Not even going to watch?”

  “I’ve seen Parno kill people before.”

  “Kill?” Mal whirled around and took a pace toward the men. “Hoy, Mercenary, no killing.”

  “Don’t worry, Captain,” Conford said. “He won’t—hrrrk!”

  Malfin didn’t see the Lionsmane move, but suddenly the Mercenary was standing next to Conford, who was bent over, hands clutching his stomach, eyes bulging, and the garwon at his belt was in the Lionsmane’s hand. He tossed it to the Wolfshead, who caught it without looking up. Goann dashed forward, and the Lionsmane spun ’round, rapping her on the bridge of her nose with the chanter he held in his left hand. As Goann jerked back, hands to her face, the Mercenary hooked her feet out from under her and tipped her over into Conford, knocking them both to the deck.

  Dhulyn Wolfshead turned a page.

  Parno Lionsmane scratched the side of his nose with his chanter. Mikel edged backward, raising his empty hands to waist level. Lionsmane stepped back—slowly—to where his pipes lay next to the rail. He smiled as several others of the crew edged nearer to help Conford and Goann. A couple of the crew were smiling as well, Mal noticed.

  “Don’t worry, Captain,” Dhulyn Wolfshead said, looking up from her book for the first time. “My Partner wouldn’t have killed anyone. Probably.” She smiled, and a small scar pulled her upper lip back in a snarl. “At least, not with his chanter. Blood’s hard to clean from the sound holes.”
/>   “Knew Conford hadn’t watched you practice this morning?” One or two from among the crew who were helping Conford and Goann back to their feet looked thoughtful, sending glances at Parno Lionsmane out of the corner of their eyes. One of the smiling ones thumped Conford on the back. Malfin was relieved to see the young crewman shaking his head with a rueful look. It seemed at least part of the anger he’d brought with him from the Windwaver was gone. Lionsmane had returned to his perch at the rail, reattached his chanter and was now playing a much livelier tune, somehow making the pipes sound as though they were laughing.

  “Nor the other young woman either.”

  “Did it deliberately, to show my crew what you can do.”

  “You said it yourself, Captain. Your people don’t know us, don’t have the same beliefs in the ‘Paledyn’ that the Mortaxa have. It would only be a matter of time before someone decided to see just what it means to be a Mercenary Brother.”

  Mal leaned his left hip against the ladder, inches away from Dhulyn Wolfshead’s foot. Let his crew see he was not put off. “Run into this kind of thing before?”

  Wolfshead leaned back, her elbows on a rung of the ladder, the book closed on the index finger of her left hand. She looked at him with narrowed eyes, as if she was measuring him.

  “There’s some everywhere who have never seen a Mercenary Brother fight. The Brotherhood is very old—the Scholars say we go back to the time of the Caids, and it’s said that we were once numerous. There are fewer of us now. Half of those who come to be Schooled are turned away, and half of those who are accepted leave—those whom the Schooling does not kill.” She looked at him closely. “I’ve heard it said that one Mercenary Brother against ten ordinary soldiers is a fair fight.”

  Mal swallowed. “And what do you say?” he said, keeping his tone light.

  She smiled her wolf’s smile, lifted her shoulders and let them drop. “I say it depends on the Mercenary Brother, and on the soldiers.” She looked away, and Mal relaxed. “Nevertheless, our reputation being what it is, there are always idiots who have something they need to prove, and decide that challenging a Mercenary Brother is the way to prove it.”

  “And do you never kill those idiots?”

  “We’re not assassins, and we don’t kill people just because we can. Now, having said all of this to put you at your ease, Captain, let me tell you also, that not everyone on this ship is a warrior. If we decided to do it, my Partner and I could kill you all, and you would not be able to stop us.”

  “If you did that, the Crayx would destroy the ship.”

  “Good to know.”

  She opened her book.

  A GREEN-EYED MAN, HIS DARK HAIR BRUSHED BACK FROM A RECEDING FOREHEAD HOLDS OUT HIS LEFT HAND. HE HAS An EXTRA FINGER NEXT TO HIS THUMB . . .

  THE STORM RAGES, PUSHING WALLS OF WATER OVER THE RAILS OF THE WAVETREADER, WASHING OVER DECKS, PUSHING THEM CLOSER AND CLOSER TO VERTICAL. ONE WAVE FOLLOWS ANOTHER, THERE IS SO MUCH WATER IT IS IMPOSSIBLE TO BREATHE, ONE COULD DROWN STANDING UPRIGHT, CLINGING TO THE SHEETS. DHULYN TRIES NOT TO LOOK DOWN TO THE DECK BELOW HER, KNOWING WHAT SHE’LL SEE, HOPING THAT THIS TIME, IF SHE DOESN’T LOOK, EVERYTHING WILL CHANGE. BUT NOTHING CHANGES. HER HEAD TILTS, HER EYES NARROW. PARNO, ALMOST UNRECOGNIZABLE, HIS GOLDEN HAIR DARKENED BY THE WET. SHE HAS NEVER BEEN ABLE TO TELL WHAT HE IS DOING, MAKING SOMETHING FAST? HELPING SOMEONE In THE SHADOWS? THE WAVETREADER SHIVERS AS IF IT HAS STRUCK SOMETHING BELOW THE HULL, AND PARNO IS SWEPT OFF THE PITCHING SIDE OF THE DECK BY A WAVE TALLER THAN TWO MEN. SHE WAILS, HER HEART BREAKING, AND LETS GO OF THE ROPE SHE CLINGS TO . . .

  A VERY SLIM, DELICATELY-BONED WOMAN WITH SANDY HAIR CROPPED SO SHORT THAT IT SHOWED HER FINELY SHAPED HEAD SITS In THE CENTER OF A ROUND WORKTABLE. HER HAZEL EYES ARE SURROUNDED BY FAINT LINES, AND LOOK DARK AGAINST HER SKIN LIKE CREAM. SHE WEARS A HIGH-COLLARED SLEEVELESS BLOUSE In A MUDDY ORANGE COLOR. THERE ARE FINE LINES, OF LAUGHTER AND OF CONCENTRATION, AROUND HER MOUTH AND EYES. SHE IS LOOKING DOWN AT THE LARGE, STRANGELY MARKED PARCHMENTS THAT COVER THE TABLE ALL AROUND HER. FINALLY, SHE NODS AND LEANS BACK, HER EYES CLOSED. OVER HER HEAD FORMS A MIST, AND THE DHULYN OF THE VISION STEPS CLOSER, PUTTING HER HAND On HER SWORD HILT. THE MIST DARKENS. A TINY FLASH OF LIGHTNING SEEMS TO BOLT THROUGH IT. THE WOMAN RAISES HER BARE ARMS UNTIL HER HANDS DISAPPEAR . . .

  Dhulyn scooped the vera tiles quickly into their box and shoved it out of sight just as Parno opened the cabin door.

  “Come and tell a tale,” he said. “They’re tired of dancing and my throat is parched.”

  “Nothing ever changes.”

  Four

  “THE CRAYX ARE FAR MORE visible from here,” Parno Lionsmane leaned forward, his elbows resting on the light bar of wood that formed the rail of the Racha’s nest on the forward mast. He glanced sideways at Malfin Cor, who was gazing out at the horizon. It was late in the afternoon watch, and while Parno hadn’t expected to be alone in the lookout, he was surprised it was the co-captain who had joined him.

  Parno looked down again, eyes drawn to the sinuous movements just below the water’s surface. From here, you could see the whole of the beasts, not just the part that broke water. These were much larger than the Wavetreader, much longer than the young one they had glimpsed while they were still in the Midland Sea. Older ones, perhaps? Too large to pass through the Herculat Straits?

  Malfin Cor took a deep breath, as if he’d come to some kind of decision. Parno waited, watching the man’s face. Instead of speaking, however, he looked down, not at the Crayx, but at the deck of the ship to where Dhulyn sat with the teacher Josel, a small girl child practically in her lap.

  Suddenly there was a great jolt, and the ship lurched sideways, as if it had struck a reef. Flung to his left, Parno reached out and caught hold of the railing, automatically looking down in time to see Dhulyn put out one hand to steady herself, the other securing the girl child. As the ship began to right itself, the mast swinging back to upright, there was another jolt, the bar in Parno’s hand snapped, and he was thrown outward, plunging down. He twisted in the air, reaching for any part of the rigging that might be close enough to grab, and had just enough time to see that there was nothing beneath him when he struck the water and went under.

  Dhulyn looked up when she heard the cry. One man, clinging to a broken bit of rail, was clambering back into the relative safety of the Racha’s nest. But not the right man. She saw a flash of gold and brown as her Partner plunged into the water a mere arm’s length from the ship’s side.

  Dhulyn was at the rail in a flash, discarding weapons as she went. She was already barefoot, so no boots would weigh her down. Sun blast it! She’d never thought she’d be sorry to have so many bits of metal hidden in her clothing.

  There was no outcry, no call of “man overboard!” The crew’s sudden bustle had no urgency, no fear in it. She could have sworn there was even some laughter.

  Without any order given, crew members were in the rigging, spilling the wind out of the sails. As the ship slowed and began to turn, Dhulyn scanned the surface of the water for any sign of her Partner. Where was he? Had he hit his head? This was not what her Vision had always shown her. Her chest was tight, and her blood beat in her ears. This should not be happening.

  She stopped hunting for more weapons to discard and swung herself over the rail just as Darlara Cor reached her.

  “Look,” the Nomad captain said.

  One hand still on the rail, her bare feet braced on the outer side of the hull, Dhulyn squinted in the direction Darlara was pointing. If the woman had seen some evidence of Parno . . .

  There. A black shadow in the water. Parno’s head broke the surface. And then his shoulders. And then . . . he appeared to be kneeling on something.

  Silence on the deck. The ship was almost completely dead in the water, floating as smooth and light as though it were docked.

  Parno continued to rise until the long head of the Crayx bearing him rose out of the water.

  “Sun and Moon shine on us,” Dhulyn breathe
d. She didn’t even notice when Darlara grabbed her by the wrist.

  “Where is he from? Your Partner? What port?”

  “No port.” Dhulyn used the captain’s arm to help pull herself back onto the deck. “He’s from Imrion. Inland,” she added, when she saw Darlara’s face still blank.

  By the time Dhulyn had turned around again, Parno was alongside the ship, and the Crayx was lifting him high enough to reach for the rail himself. She was not the first to the spot, but crew members cleared the way for her as she reached out for Parno, giving him a hand to help him balance as he stepped from the Crayx’s head to the rail. Once there, he turned to face the beast, gave his deepest bow, touching the fingertips of his free hand to his forehead.

  Dhulyn, steadying her Partner before he could topple into the water once more, raised her own hand to salute the Crayx. Any other time, she would have been fascinated by the beast itself, but now she only caught a glimpse of a long, horsey snout, pale green scales the size of her palm, and disconcertingly large, round eyes as the Crayx waggled its head in acknowledgment of the salutes before sinking once more under the waves.

  “Did you see that? Demons and perverts, what a ride!” Parno was grinning, apparently none the worse for his dunking in the water—at least until he saw her face. Dhulyn was quick to force an answering smile to her lips.

  “You were never worried, my heart? You know I can swim.” He smoothed his wet hair back from his face with both hands.

  “You might well have forgotten how,” she answered, as indifferently as she could.

  Malfin Cor landed on the deck and raced over to them, stepping into the small cleared area that had formed around Dhulyn, Parno, and Darlara.

  “Performance over, people. Work waiting, if you please.” He was smiling, as were many of the others as the crew moved to obey.

  “Saw that?” Dhulyn wasn’t sure to whom Malfin was speaking.

  “Didn’t miss a moment,” Darlara said.