Treasures of the Deep

by Andrew McGahan

  A fire had grown in Axay’s awful eyes, an excitement reaching out to Celestine in fellowship; now that fire died, the excitement fading away in regret, recognising her incapacity.

  A sigh came. ‘Never mind, little one. It was unfair of me to ask so much. I forgot myself in my enthusiasm.’ Pale limbs rearranged themselves in the water, and Axay slid closer. ‘I will waste no more of your time. The source of my special abilities is of little relevance anyway; what matters is that I have the power to share those abilities with those I touch. To … donate them. And you are weak, child. You have the sight, but only dimly. You will need deeper vision, if you are to know what message it is that you must pass on to the false scapegoat girl. I have called you here so that I can give you that power.’

  Celestine had not realised it, but she had been slowly backing away all the while; suddenly her shoulderblades touched against the upper step of the pool, and there was nowhere further to retreat. Naked terror filled her again.

  Axay slid closer still. ‘Don’t be afraid. It will not hurt you; it is I who will hurt, for I am surrendering part of myself. You may find it overwhelming for a time, but when you are yourself again you will discover that your own abilities are magnified tenfold. Look about you then with your new vision, and hopefully – for this is our only hope – when the day comes, you will see clearly what it is you need to see, and what you must pass on to she who follows.’

  With that, the thing was only inches away, extending its freakishly jointed limbs to embrace Celestine. She recoiled against the steps, eyes closed tight, her every fibre stiff and refusing.

  Then came Axay’s touch, in too many places at once to be mistaken for human; cool compared to the water, and somehow both repellent and enticing; a gentle stroking upon her skin by fingers that were not fingers, but sure, and confident.

  ‘Ah,’ whispered the voice, in Celestine’s ear now, low and intimate and wise. ‘How beautiful you are, and how soft your skin. I have not touched a fellow living creature in longer than I can remember – it is too sweet to bear.’ The voice broke with a sadness so vast and wild that Celestine felt grief swell in her own throat. ‘Too sweet … ah, but I see death in you too; my own death approaching, soon, too soon, a few years only, and a great, great burning …’

  Dizziness assailed Celestine, and suddenly the caressing fingers felt hot, hotter than the water, as hot as flame, and yet wonderful too, terribly so. Something feather-light was on her lips; Axay’s mouth, utterly alien, but a kiss; a kiss for poor Celestine who had never been kissed in all her life. The pleasure spun her deeper and wider and faster.

  ‘So it must be,’ mourned Axay, lips against lips, and breathed into Celestine; a sigh, a groan of joy that became a moan of suffering, of agony, and then Celestine was whirled away on an irresistible tide of rapture and pain, and knew no more.

  She woke with a start and found herself in her own little cabin aboard the Bent Wing. She blinked at the low ceiling above the bed, wondering. She had no memory whatever of returning there. And what was this? She could feel the ship moving beneath her, a steady rolling and pitching, and could hear the timbers about her creaking and groaning – familiar sounds and sensations, but ones never experienced upon the turgid waters of the Millpond.

  They were at sea!

  Celestine threw back the blanket – she was fully dressed, she noted, as a memory flashed of steam and nakedness and a terrible embrace – and climbed from the bed. She staggered a little; not from the ship’s rolling, which was second nature to her after a life afloat, but from an attack of vertigo, along with a sudden awareness of great hunger and thirst. How long was it since she’d eaten? How long had she slept? It must have been some days at the least, if they had meanwhile sailed from the inner waters of the Millpond all the way to the open ocean – and how far out to sea were they anyway?

  She pushed the door open and went tottering along the passage to the stairs, then with difficulty climbed to the main deck hatchway. Grey daylight dazzled her as she emerged to the air, but she stared to the right and left to confirm the impossible fact; yes, they were out upon the ocean proper. A salt wind was blowing, low cloud rolled overhead, and grey-green waves were streaming alongside.

  She hurried to the rail. She could see no land anywhere – for all she knew they were weeks out to sea! But no, there, thank the deeps; directly astern a blunt headland was just visible, receding on the western horizon. Celestine’s tilted world settle back a little. It was not so long then that she had slumbered. Two days’ sail, perhaps, from the Twelfth Kingdom to the eastern entrance of the Millpond, and only another half day’s sail beyond that …

  Still, what had happened to her?

  What had been done to her?

  Belatedly, she noted the other two ships of their small fleet, both running ahead of the Bent Wing, each a fine sight with sails full set in the fresh westerly wind. The closest was the second supply ship of the expedition, the Bullion, a stout merchantman somewhat larger than the Bent Wing. And farthest ahead, leading the column, was the magnificent Tempest, half as large again; the great battleship and flag vessel of the Lord Designate himself.

  Nadal. She had heard something about Nadal. He had a secret of some kind …

  Celestine shook her head, the memories of her time on the Twelfth Kingdom a jumble, much more like a dream than reality. Had it happened at all – or had she merely been sick with a fever of some kind, and imagined the whole affair in a delirium? It would explain why she had been abed for so long …

  ‘Celestine, girl, you’re up!’

  She turned. It was the ship’s second officer – Commander Gabriel. Her favourite. He wasn’t even half her age, for all this girl nonsense; he’d served for barely a year on the Bent Wing, and his nature was much too lighthearted for command rank. Nevertheless, Celestine liked him, sensing something rock-solid at his core. He was a man to be trusted.

  Now his smile grew abruptly serious, as if reading the confusion and bewilderment in her. ‘You’ve only just woken?’ And when she nodded tautly, he gave a half-bow of apology. ‘Then you’ll hardly know what’s happening! Don’t be alarmed. You were brought back from the Twelfth Kingdom on the morning we sailed, fast asleep and unable to be woken; but the messenger from the Sea Lord said that you were not ill or in any danger, and that you would awaken in time, a few days at most. We were told to merely put you to bed, and check in on you now and then. I visited you myself. You seemed simply to be sleeping deeply. Are you well then, now that you’re awake?’

  Celestine considered. Was she well? She had been promised … something. By the creature in the steam. Axay. Yes, the memories were sorting themselves out. Axay had spoken of special power, of sharing it, of donating it to her …

  But she felt only her usual self! She stared at her hands, her feet, at the enquiring face of the second officer. No, nothing felt any different, nothing looked any different. She was hungry and thirsty, and stiff from the long sleep. But that was all.

  Had Axay failed then? Had Celestine proved too slow and stupid in her mind, or too weak in her body, to receive the intended gift?

  Commander Gabriel was watching her with concern. ‘It must be disturbing, to lose several days like that. But you’ve missed nothing of any importance; why, we only cleared the Millpond at dawn this morning. So you see, the voyage and the expedition have barely begun. We haven’t even turned north for the Ice yet, though we will do so soon. We await only the Lord Designate’s signal.’

  But Nadal has a secret, Celestine thought again. Though what it was, Axay hadn’t known …

  ‘I cannot linger,’ Gabriel added. ‘Is there anything you need from me?’

  She shook her head, preoccupied, and with a nod in farewell the second officer continued on his way. Celestine turned to study the sea once more, the waves rolling off white-flecked to the grey horizon. She was facing north; somewhere beyond the curve of the world, the Unquiet Ice waited.

  Axay’s words came to her… . it
will be a cruel welcome, I’m afraid. I see much suffering and long captivity in the frozen wastes …

  Foreboding bit. Ah … she had never liked the cold, her frail bones always ached in the winter months of snow and ice. And now it was her ill-luck to be bound for a winter unending.

  Her gaze drifted to the other two ships. At least the fleet was well provisioned for such climes. Immense stores of food and warm gear had been crammed into the Bent Wing’s hold, and the Bullion’s hold too, no doubt. The Ice might indeed trap them for a season, for a year or even two, but they would surely not starve or freeze, they would surely endure and survive the trial; three such big, brave ships. Axay had not said they would die there …

  Another wave of dizziness made Celestine sway. She should go below right now to eat and drink, she knew, before she collapsed. And yet something, some sense of expectation, held her there.

  Time passed, and the fleet sailed on. She glanced back beyond the stern and saw that land was no longer visible on the western horizon, it had sunk from view. She supposed that from the crow’s nest high above it might still be glimpsed, but not for much longer. Likewise, for any watcher back on land, the fleet itself would soon be lost to sight.

  A coldness grew in her, a loneliness, though she had never felt lonely at sea before. A clang of the bell marked the passing of an hour. Celestine found herself watching the flagship, aware of her own increasing impatience. Commander Gabriel had said that soon the signal to turn north would come. Was that what she was waiting for? But why?

  There!

  A pennant was being run up the main mast of the Tempest. A cry came from the Bent Wing’s crow’s nest, echoed by shouted orders from the high deck. The three ships eased sail, and then one by one they swung northwards, first the battleship, and then in line the two merchantmen following.

  But now … what was this?

  The Tempest and the Bullion were continuing to turn. The Bent Wing held north, but the other two ships came further and further about, until their bows were aimed southwards. Still with reduced sail, they passed in line by the Bent Wing; the one ship pushing north, the other two directly south.

  Puzzled murmurs arose among the crew on the Bent Wing’s main deck. Staring across to the rail of the Tempest as it came level with them, Celestine could see sailors there looking back with expressions that were likewise bewildered. Whatever was happening, it seemed that the common crew on none of the ships had any foreknowledge of it.

  She looked to the Tempest’s high deck, where splendidly uniformed figures were gathered about the wheel. No confusion was evident there, only calm assuredness. One man – tall, posed slightly apart from the others – she guessed to be Nadal, heir to the Sea Lord’s throne. When the Tempest had almost passed by, this figure raised a hand in salute. From his own high deck, Captain Altona returned the gesture calmly, his expression quite unsurprised.

  A single cannon shot rang out from Tempest, solemn and flat under the grey sky, and then the battleship was sliding away behind. Next, the Bullion passed by, its captain likewise saluting Altona; then it too receded off southwards. Now the mutter of puzzlement about the Bent Wing had grown to an alarmed clamour. What was happening? Where were the other two vessels going?

  The questions were silenced by the ship’s bell, abruptly clanging out; the captain was calling the entire crew to the main deck.

  Celestine gathered with the men, a small, fragile shape among them, but as always they were careful to leave a space about her, uncrushed; she was, after all, their guard against ill-fortune.

  ‘Seafarers!’ cried Captain Altona from the high deck rail. ‘Heed me. There is no need for alarm; this is a development long planned. And for our part, nothing has changed. We set out to voyage to the Unquiet Ice, and to the Ice we will voyage.’

  He paused, and Celestine noted that even the first and second officers, who were by the captain’s side, looked as mystified as anyone.

  Altona took a deep breath. ‘But we will do so alone! Hear me clearly – I said alone. The Tempest and the Bullion have business elsewhere. This was a strict secret that could not be revealed to any of you until we were beyond sight of land. A deception, I freely admit. But a deception that was necessary, for the Lord Designate’s father would never have granted his son permission to sail if he’d learned the true direction and purpose of Nadal’s voyaging.

  ‘So where have the Tempest and the Bullion gone? It will suffice to say for now that they are bent upon a mission that may change our very conception of the world. And good luck to them! They will need it. But that mission is not our concern; put it from your mind. Our task remains unchanged, and is undertaken so that the Sea Lord’s original wish will still be honoured and fulfilled. To the Ice we go.

  ‘But this will be no mere consolation prize of a voyage. We too go in search of discoveries that will change the world as we know it. All of you have heard the tales of the strange warm currents that have been encountered in the far north of late, and of the distant glimpses some have received of an opening in the Ice Wall. It is in search of those currents, and of that opening in the Wall, that we sail.

  ‘And we will find them, if I have anything to do with it! So I say to you – fear not the dangers, and instead imagine the fame and fortune that will be ours, when we are the first to find the fabled way through the Ice and so discover the route to the pole! That fame and fortune will be all the greater as it will be ours alone, not shared among three ships!’

  The crew was murmuring, men glancing at each other speculatively, but with a degree of acceptance too, it seemed to Celestine. After all, said the glances, nothing had changed that much. It was the other ships that had hared off on some new expedition; themselves, had they not always been bound for the Ice anyway? And truly, the rewards to be won would be all the richer if not divided by three …

  But Celestine looked now to Commander Gabriel; the second officer was gazing at the captain with undisguised disbelief. She could well imagine his thoughts; she shared them. Alone. They were now venturing off to the most forbidding place in all the world – alone. With three ships it had been a perilous enough prospect. But for a single ship, with no help at hand should they strike trouble …

  A dreadful sense of confirmation possessed her; Axay had warned of secrets, and now a secret stood revealed. All the more likely then that Axay’s other foretellings would also prove true.

  The Bent Wing would be trapped in the Ice! And Celestine was helpless to do anything about it. She had suddenly become the sole scapegoat of the expedition, rather than one of three, the voyage’s fate resting on her shoulders alone. But where was the new strength that Axay had shared with her; where was the new sight Axay had promised her?

  Nowhere.

  Captain Altona was not finished. ‘The Ice,’ he declared. ‘A barrier that has defied our greatest mariners for half a thousand years – and we will be the ones to penetrate its mysteries. Our fellow ships have gone south in the hope of new lands, but before they come anywhere near their goal, we will have made a discovery equally as great. If there is warm water and dry ground at the pole, then I swear that it will be us who finds it! Are you with me, men?’

  The mutters among the crew rose to an approving half-cheer. They were mariners, were they not? What mariner’s blood could not be stirred at the thought of new seas unsailed and new lands unbeheld? Aye, they were with him …

  ‘North we sail then, lads!’ approved the captain. ‘Fear no cold, dread no storm, and fly not from winter’s darkness. We will conquer all. And keep an eye out as we go. A prize I offer.’ Here he plunged his hand into his jacket and brought forth a small leather sack, bulging full. ‘Fifty gold coins to he who sights the first great berg of the voyage!’

  Another cheer rose, full-throated this time. Gold coins – that was more like it!

  But a nausea like seasickness had gripped Celestine now, caused not by any motion of the vessel, but by fear – for a shade had fallen over the captain’s face
, even as he triumphantly raised the coins. A grey shadow that Celestine knew well; why, she had seen the same only days before, on the face of the young woman on the stairs, aboard the Twelfth Kingdom. Death. It meant death was coming …

  Except it was different now.

  The cast over the captain’s face deepened, grew almost black, leaching the colour from his flesh. His cheeks became hollowed out as if from starvation and thirst, the skin growing dry and leathery and taut, and then splitting open like old paper to reveal bone beneath. His real face was still there, uncorrupted, but in a double vision Celestine now saw a long-dead skull, jaws agape, staring with empty eye sockets around which only shreds of flesh clung.

  A cry choked in her throat, for now she was looking at the first officer and he also had two faces, one overlaying the other, and the second was a bloated, swollen ruin of a face, pallid white from long immersion in the sea, its eyes and nose and tongue eaten away by underwater things.

  Corpses. Both men were corpses. She was seeing their future deaths – but not as she had once seen death, as a vague shadowy indication, its cause hidden from her; this was death depicted damningly clear, its manner explicit. The captain would die of long, slow starvation, and the first officer would die drowned. Celestine knew it as truth.

  She found herself backing away from the vision, not wanting to see. She had never desired to foretell death anyway, even in the old fashion, but this … this was too terrible. If this was what Axay had done to her, changed her powers this way, than the creature had cursed her, not helped her …

  But new horror rose in her gullet. The men around her, they too were blurred with double versions of themselves. Corpse versions. They stared at her in curiosity as she stumbled backwards through their midst. Some had leathery, skull-like faces, as the captain; starved men. Others had the fish-eaten faces of the drowned, like the first officer.

  But by far the majority were different again; their dead faces were white, but not the pale white of the drowned, instead it was a hard, bright marble white, a cold glitter. It was ice. Ice filled their eyes and made shining discs of their gaze; ice choked their mouths solid. Their limbs were alabaster stone, their clothes torn by bitter winds, their expressions contorted and unyielding.