by R. T. Kaelin
“No,” said Sergeant Trell, his grin widening. “I did not.”
Chuckling, Nikalys peered down at Nundle.
“Thank you ever so much. You are a savior.”
The already rosy pink hue in Nundle’s cheeks deepened to a soft red. The tomble was evidently embarrassed by the compliment. As he stared at Nikalys, his eyes narrowed and he took a step closer. With wonder in his voice, he muttered, “Your recovery is remarkable. The others got better, yes, but you look as if you could swim the rest of the way to Ursus.”
Grinning wide, Nikalys boasted, “I feel like I could.”
Nundle shrugged, took a step back, and mused aloud, “I wish I had known this Weave when I journeyed to the Arcane Republic. Perhaps I might not have hated sailing as much as I thought I did. The pattern is amazingly simple, you know. Only need a handful of Life Strands and a couple of Soul. That’s it. A few loops, a twist, and—it looks sort of like a thistle when you’re done. A green and silver thistle. I am quite surprised they don’t teach it at the Academies. I wonder if my preceptors ever knew of it. Preceptor Lasavel—he was my teacher at the Academy of—”
“Nundle?” interrupted Sergeant Trell, a tiny smile on his face.
The tomble glanced up at the soldier
“I was going on again, wasn’t I?”
Nodding, Sergeant Trell said, “Yes, you were.”
“I was actually enjoying it,” said Nikalys. “I was going to see how long you could go.”
Nundle shrugged and offered them both a smile.
“Tombles in Deepwell always said I was a perfect Babblebrook on account I…well, I babble on like a brook.”
After the three of them shared a quiet chuckle at the small jest, the tomble tilted his head back to stare upward at Sergeant Trell.
“Seems Broedi won the bet.”
Sergeant Trell eyed Nikalys and nodded.
“That he did.”
“Bet?” asked Nikalys. A wave crashed into the starboard side of the Sapphire, coating the ship and its passengers with a thin coating of icy sea spray. Wiping water from his face, Nikalys repeated, “What bet?”
Nundle nodded his head toward the aft of the ship.
“Might be best if you ask him.”
Nikalys looked to where the tomble was gesturing, squinting against the orange evening sun. He lifted a hand to shade his eyes and saw Broedi standing tall on the second deck, arms crossed over chest and gaze locked on Nikalys.
“What sort of bet?” asked Nikalys. “With who?” Shifting his gaze to the figure on the White Lion’s left, his eyes narrowed. “Never mind.”
Captain Scrag, the master of the Sapphire, was scowling at Nikalys, his thick mane of white hair whipping in the wind. Even though he was rail-thin and shorter than Broedi by almost a foot and a half, the captain was one of the most imposing men Nikalys had ever met. His face was tougher than twenty-year old leather, beaten dry by years of salty sea air. His thick, bushy mustache was so large that it covered his entire mouth. He wore a navy blue coat with scarlet stripes running down the sleeves, a pair of matching breeches, and matte leather, calf-high black boots.
Some men conveyed a natural aura of command. Sergeant Trell, for one. Commander Aiden, as well. Whatever it was that those two soldiers had, Captain Scrag had three barrels worth. Like Broedi, his gaze was reserved for Nikalys alone.
“You looked so miserable,” said Nundle. “The captain bet Broedi we could not get you to let go of the railing.” With a smile in his voice, he said, “Broedi had faith in us.”
Nikalys wondered if he should be upset that his misery had been the subject of a bet. After a moment, he shrugged, not caring. If you were not a sailor, there was little else to do at sea but make bets.
Suddenly curious, Nikalys asked, “What was the wager?”
Nundle turned to look up at Sergeant Trell.
“Nathan?”
The sergeant shrugged his shoulders.
“They did not share with me.”
Nikalys stared back across the deck. Broedi’s expression was stoic as always, but the captain was glowering, appearing rather unhappy he lost. Truth be told, he always looked that way.
“If you will excuse me,” said Nikalys.
He strode off without waiting for a response, heading toward the portside stairs that led up to the deck. His course was not a straight one, interrupted both by the rolling deck and by sailors moving about, performing whatever tasks seamen do.
Holding tightly onto the dual railings, Nikalys lurched up the steps and reached the second deck. After waiting for the Sapphire to pause atop a wave, he hurried a dozen paces to stand next to Broedi, grasping the deck railing as soon as he arrived. He turned an eye to the hillman, expecting a greeting of sorts. However, both Broedi and the captain ignored his arrival.
Leaning forward, Nikalys attempted to catch their eyes yet the pair kept their gazes locked on the eastern horizon. With a shrug of his shoulders, he turned forward as well, wondering if something important lay ahead of them. Before he could focus on the distant line of sky and water, the ship itself demanded he pay attention to it. Now that seasickness no longer consumed him, he could appreciate the majesty of the craft.
The Sapphire was a three-masted, full-rigged ship, the mizzenmast a dozen feet behind them, the mainmast rising high at mid-ship, and the foremast further along towards the bow. The soft, warm light cast by the sunset tinted the normally white sails a soft orange.
Days ago, Broedi had tried to convey the exceptional craftsmanship required to build such a ship: the different types of wood necessary, the techniques shipbuilders used, the style as well as art that went into a seaworthy vessel. At the time, Nikalys had not listened to a word the hillman had spoken, so consumed was he by seasickness. Now, with his stomach right, he tried to recall Broedi’s lesson. He remembered something about oak being used for the keel. He frowned, his gaze traversing the ship as he tried to remember what a keel was.
The sharp crack of skin smacking wood startled him. Swiveling to stare at Captain Scrag, he found the ship’s master glaring at Broedi.
“Blast the Nine Hells nine times over!” shouted the man, his already present scowl deepening ever further. His moustache bounced as he ranted, “That’s two blasted casks of Starwick I owe you! Do you know the favors I’ll need to call in for two?!”
Nikalys had yet to get used to the way the captain treated Broedi. Most everyone connected with the Shadow Manes treated the White Lion with respect or reverence. Yet it seemed the ship’s commander felt no such compunction to offer any sort of deference to the White Lion.
Leaning forward, the captain said, “Hold a moment—you didn’t use any of those blasted strings and cheat me, did you?”
Broedi shook his head, his familiar, slight smile touching his lips.
“Yet again, Captain, they are ‘Strands,’ not strings. And I did no such thing.”
Slapping the railing again, Captain Scrag exclaimed, “Bah! I should have known better than take you twice or naught! Hells, I should never have taken the first bet.”
Baffled by their exchange, Nikalys said, “Pardon me…but what is going on?”
Staring at him with eyebrows raised, Captain Scrag said, “Oh, my! So polite. ‘Pardon me,’ he says!” He leaned toward Nikalys, a teasing grin hiding under his moustache. “It’s good to see you have more color in your cheeks than my sails. I nearly had the men run you up the yardarm!”
Since leaving Storm Island, the captain had taken every chance he could to jab at Nikalys. In one sense, Nikalys welcomed the teasing, relieved to be treated like an average soul and not the illustrious Progeny. However, the captain’s mocking was relentless and Nikalys had had enough.
Holding the seaman’s steady gaze, he said, “Now that I am feeling better, I suppose I should take this opportunity to apologize for the mess I made in your cabin.”
The captain’s confident smile faltered a bit.
“My cabin?”
With as much false regret as he could muster, Nikalys said, “Thinking I might feel better with something in my stomach, I forced down a large helping of fish stew.” He grimaced at the thought. The stew was horrid. “I was wrong. I tried to make it to the deck in time, but I took a wrong turn, ended up in your cabin, and well…” He trailed off and gave a small shrug. “I do apologize.”
Not a word he had spoken was truth. He would not touch a spoonful of the wretched stew even if he were starving. The thick, red glop was revolting.
The captain, no longer smiling, stared ahead, eyeing the stairwell that led below deck.
“You got ill in my cabin?”
“I am truly sorry, Captain. I meant to tell you earlier, but I was busy holding up your ship’s starboard rails.”
Nikalys had managed to keep a straight face to this point, but he doubted he could much longer. The forlorn expression on the captain’s face was wholly enjoyable.
Suddenly, a deep, rumbling chuckle rolled forth from Broedi. The rare sound drew both Nikalys’ and the captain’s attention immediately. As the hillman continued to laugh, Captain Scrag shifted his gaze to Nikalys. A moment later, he began to nod, a knowing smile spreading over his face.
“You give as good as you take, don’t you?”
Letting his own smile free, Nikalys nodded and said, “I am a middle child, Captain. I have had plenty of practice doing both.” Looking between the pair, he said, “I know about the first bet. Mind if I ask what the second one was about?”
A disgruntled Captain Scrag huffed, “Hells, I bet twice or naught that if we kept silent once you reached the rail here, you would speak before we crested five waves.”
“And I believed you would remain quiet,” said Broedi.
Tilting his head, Nikalys asked, “How did you know?”
“I did not,” rumbled the hillman. “I was trying to return the captain’s losses from the first bet.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Mark me lucky.”
“Last time I bet you on this trip, Broedi,” growled the captain.
“Don’t say that,” said Nikalys with a smile. “We need something to liven things up around here. After all, this voyage has been rather uneventful, hasn’t it?”
Captain Scrag’s relatively affable mood changed in an instant. Glaring at Nikalys, he slapped the rail with both hands and, with venom in his voice, shouted, “Hells, son! Why would you go and say something like that?! Saewyn curse it all!”
As the captain strung together a long, virulent succession of curses that would sour milk fresh from a cow’s udder, Nikalys stared, wholly confused at the explosion of sharp words. Throughout the outburst, Nikalys repeatedly glanced at Broedi, looking for some sort of guidance. A pained expression rest upon the hillman’s face.
When the captain finally stopped his shouting, Nikalys said, “I don’t understand, Captain. What did I do?”
The captain remained quiet, staring daggers at him. After an uncomfortable moment of silence, Broedi answered instead.
“Men of the sea never mention the ease of a journey, believing Saewyn will hear their words and rectify the situation.”
“Rectify the situation? What does that—?”
Captain Scrag interrupted, bellowing, “It means she’ll drop a blasted storm on us! We’ll be tossed around like apples in a dirgmour’s stout keg during the king’s high festival!”
Nikalys stared at the captain, his face blank. After a few moments of quiet, filled only by the roar of the sea and the creaking of the ship, he turned to look behind the ship. Mu’s orb hovered above the western horizon, peeking through a spattering of clouds in the sky.
“Ah…I don’t see a storm in our future, Captain.”
“Do not mock what you don’t know!” bellowed the old seaman. “I swear, if Saewyn strikes us with a tempest, son, I’m strapping you to the topmast! And you are staying up there until the sun shines bright again!”
The surly captain stomped away, moving further aft to speak to the sailor manning the giant, wooden wheel that guided the ship.
Staring after the captain in a state of minor shock, Nikalys mumbled, “That man is mad.”
“Do not judge him harshly,” rumbled Broedi. “He is a fair man, steadfast friend, and excellent captain. Ask any of the seamen aboard and they will tell you they would not sail under any other.”
As he watched Captain Scrag berate the helmsman for one reason or another, Nikalys muttered, “I sincerely doubt that.”
“Truly, Nikalys. Captain Scrag is a good soul.”
“I will have to take your word on that.”
“Someday, I will tell you about an expedition he and I took to Cartu. Back when the captain’s hair was still black. You would enjoy it. It involves a turtle and a merchantman from Quan.”
Curious already, Nikalys eyed the hillman.
“How about today? I’ve nothing else to do.”
Broedi shook his head and rumbled, “Not true.” With a nod of his chin, he indicated the lower deck. “Your meal has arrived.”
Looking at the main weather deck, Nikalys saw Wil and Cero emerging from the stairwell, both carrying wooden platters. From where he stood, it appeared they had brought him dried boar meat and red pears. His stomach grumbling, he was halfway to the stairs when he called over his shoulder, “Tell me your story later!”
Nikalys hurried down the steps two at a time, his mouth already watering.
Chapter 34: Storm
26th of the Turn of Luraana, 4999
The rain drops pelting Nikalys’ neck and ears felt like a thousand tiny, cold steel daggers stabbing his skin. Jagged lightning cut the blackness around him, providing brief glimpses of the massive black waves coursing about the Sapphire. His feet spread wide, Nikalys held tightly onto the railing on the aft deck, a dozen paces ahead of the helmsmen.
Despite the violent sea and gusting winds, Nikalys refused to believe his comment regarding their uneventful journey had anything to do with the storm raging around them. Captain Scrag, on the other hand, vehemently disagreed.
When the first muffled rumbles of thunder had rolled over the Sea of Kings a few hours past sunset, the captain had shouted below, demanding Nikalys come up to the main deck. Nikalys was reluctant at first, but after Broedi suggested he comply in order to avoid a tongue-lashing, he trudged up to the weather deck. Nervous at what awaited, he emerged from the stairwell and stared around him, stunned by the sea’s state. Moonlight lit up waves twice as tall as they were a short time ago.
The sea’s growing fury, however, was nothing compared to the captain’s already raging storm.
Captain Scrag had grabbed Nikalys by the arm, marched him to the stern, faced him west, and ordered that he watch the approaching storm. A wall of clouds lit by the dual moons slowly marched east, swallowing the stars and burping out little bursts of lighting. When the waning crescent of White Moon disappeared, the ship and sea seemed otherworldly bathed in Blue Moon’s light alone.
Once the looming storm covered Blue Moon, plunging the Sapphire into pure black, Nundle and Broedi came up on deck. The pair moved about the ship, creating magical lanterns by binding yellow and amber balls of light to various points of the ship.
The wind picked up, whistling through the ship’s rigging and whipping its sails. Just before the full force of the tempest hit, Captain Scrag retrieved Nikalys from the stern and moved him to the aft deck, insisting that he “enjoy the blasted uneventful voyage.” He supposed he should be grateful the captain did not strap him to the top mast as threatened.
The storm had been raging for some time now. Shivering in the cold rain, Nikalys squeezed the railing tight as the waves tossed ship and men. He could not have been wetter if he were swimming in the sea itself.
Captain Scrag’s booming voice cut through wind and thunder as the old sailor yelled orders to the crew, telling them to tie off one thing, loosen another, or batten down something else.
A sudden, bright flash cast stark, sharp-edged shadows along t
he length of the ship. The lightning’s partner, a deafening crack of thunder, shook the world. The incredibly close strike shocked his eyes, leaving him blind for a moment. He squeezed his eyes tight and waited for his night-sight to return. For a few moments, the world was nothing but roaring wind, creaking wood, and thrashing seas.
Cracking open his eyes, he spotted a sailor scurrying across the deck, lit faintly by the globes of magical light. Broedi stood near the mainmast, staring into the night and using every gift at his disposal to hold back some of the storm’s fury and smooth the ship’s way. Nundle was below deck with the rest of the Shadow Mane soldiers, riding out the storm. Unlike Broedi, the tomble was unable to ‘touch Strands of Water’ so he was doing what he could to keep the men from getting ill.
With the sails furled and tied down now, the masts and yardarms looked like three skeletal hands stretching into the black, trying hard to cling to the rigging. The captain had used the strong wind to drive the Sapphire east right up until the storm struck. When the gusts threatened to rip the sails to shreds, he ordered them stowed.
A cry arose from the sailors on the main deck below. Their words were lost to the wind, but the alarm in their voices worried Nikalys. Looking down, he spotted a handful of the men, pointing to the south. Turning his head, he saw the silhouette of a massive wave just off starboard, backlit by another burst of lighting. A black wall of water as tall as the main mast loomed over the Sapphire.
“Oh, Gods…”
The wave closed quickly into the halo of light cast by the magical lanterns on deck. Nikalys shot a panicked glance to Broedi, praying the White Lion could somehow hold back the wave, but found the hillman with his massive arms wrapped around the mainmast and his eyes closed.
Captain Scrag’s voice shrieked through the night, “Wave starboard! Hold tight!”
Nikalys crouched low and squeezed the aft deck railing, feeling the wood crack under his grip. He took a deep breath just as the colossal swell rammed into the Sapphire.
As seawater rushed over him, Nikalys’ mouth shot open from the shock of the cold and the sea rewarded him by filling it with salt water. Choking, he shut his mouth before swallowing more of the ocean. The ship listed dangerously to port, the creaks and groans it made sounding more wounded animal than wooden ship.